


His Bonded

by Whatevergirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Guide!Valjean, Kink Meme, M/M, Sentinel!Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinels are things of myth and legend, no one really believes in them any more. Except for several convicts in Toulon, 24601 included. There is something a little bit off about the young guard, Javert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he noticed the sentinel was in Toulon, about 5 years and 1 escape attempt into his sentence; just a young guard with a moderately pretty face. The man did nothing in particular, was simply walking down the line of cells, but it was enough to attract Valjean’s attention.

He was usually quite good at picking up the moods of other people. It was a useful gift here, being able to tell whether or not he could continue to push; having a sense of if a person was bluffing, but as he watched the blue uniform stalk past, Valjean felt nothing but a curious tingling sensation up his spine. It was odd, but he dismissed it soon enough.

It was a few weeks later that he heard the other guards whispering about the gypsy sentinel who had joined their ranks. He had heard of sentinels, of course. Practically on par with faie creatures, gargoyles and matagots, they were things of legend. Oh, there were those who believed in sentinels, but they were not a common thing.

It was strange how quickly his mind took to the idea of the sentinel guard, Javert. He saw him a few times a week, easily; either watching the prisoners suffer their manual labour, or passing by their cells, be it while they were sleeping or eating their pitiful rations. The man had sharp eyes, and seemed to easily spot trouble almost as soon as Valjean felt it bubble forth from their minds. It left the convict with a strange feeling in his chest, was it admiration? No, that was not something he felt for those who chose such a violent career. He knew it was not attraction, for although the guard was far more pleasant to look upon than anything else that walked these corridors, Valjean prided himself in needing a decent personality also to find a person attractive. 

This odd feeling was more difficult to dismiss. It clung to him like a headache for weeks.

______

 

As autumn turned to the harsh nights of winter, then eased off into springtime, Valjean did not concern himself with the young guard. He could still hear the other guards’ gossip, their comments on ‘was it true the gypsy’s mother used to haunt the women cells?’ or how ‘the freak had stopped another escape attempt and claimed he had heard the commotion, despite being on a different level.’ He did not let this bother him, even though he found himself believing in the extraordinary senses of the other.

Régis, or 17957 as the guards called him, had been here many years. Valjean had never asked why, but knew his stay was extended thanks to his violent temper. Régis claimed that sentinels were as real as God in his Heaven, as real as both angels and devils. He claimed sentinels were incomplete beings though, that they required their guide, the other half to their soul to bond with them and stabilise them or they would burn out. 

Valois, 20116, had agreed with this while they were once again working in the docks. He said he’d been there when a sentinel’s guide had been killed, a female sentinel, but she had turned animal. Alternating between whining a high pitched and pained noise and then snarling with inhuman fury, Valois put the sentinel down with his shotgun. She had been his sister, and he had not objected to being taken here. He did not regret sending her to her guide though.

Valjean found himself wondering if Javert had his other half. He found the idea most disagreeable, an odd feeling of jealousy and rejection churning in his gut. It did not make sense. 

______

As the nights grew warmer, Valjean spent time in a separate cell. His escape attempt had been foiled by the one guard he had a fascination with. He did not entirely object to being so separated from the other convicts, for though many of them suffered sentences too harsh, all of them were bitter and it often weighed down Valjean’s mind. A fight that had resulted in the death of a guard and subsequent death of the convict that had killed him filled the area with such heavy feelings of anger and despair, of such a desire for violence, that he had found himself unable to wait out the remaining time for his release, despite the fact that he knew getting caught attempting a second escape would result in an increase of time.

As he had snuck through the dark grounds though, the wish to take Javert with him, away from the corruption had been startling. He had pushed it from his mind and carried on, unable to fully break the thought of Javert from his thoughts.

He had not gotten far when he'd heard a soft footfall behind him. Spinning, he saw a lithe body pointing a rapier at him.

“Stop there, 24601.”

He had frozen momentarily, then taking a breath, he had calmly returned to the young sentinel. Surprise had then flitted briefly across the man’s (boy’s? He looked little more than a child this close...) face. 

Valjean sighed as he shifted against the cell wall. He had not even tried to flee after being found, had simple allowed his arms to be cuffed behind his back, had simply allowed the young guard to march him back to the prison. 

He remembered the guard’s hands. He had not worn his gloves and Valjean had seen, and felt, the calluses that covered his skin. They were the hands of a child who’d been through a workhouse, or put to use on a farm, not of a child pampered and protected. It had made the guard seem more human, despite the claims of his colleagues that he was not.

His cell was opened and his attention turned to the one whom he could not feel. 

“I thank you, Guard Javert. The last time I attempted escape, it took them nearly 2 days to bring me food.”

Dark eyes focused on him, as the man set the tray down. “It is not just to starve a man, not even a criminal.”

Valjean stood with Javert, intending to thank him again, a desire of something other than the usual hostility of guards and convicts between them. Javert froze as he took a breath, his face going oddly blank. Valjean frowned, and moved closer, reaching out a tentative hand to the guard.

Javert did nothing, eyes focused on nothing. Valjean realised, with a jolt, that he could now feel the other man, though the feelings were all vague and oddly detached. He looked over at the door. Was another guard going to come in, maybe object over the amount of time Javert had been here? But, no. No one entered. Javert breathing was going faint; like it wasn’t even properly occurring to him that it was a necessity. 

“Javert? Javert! Wake up, man.” And still the guard did nothing.

An icy stab of fear made its way under Valjean’s skin. He was reluctant to actually touch him, the man was still armed. He glanced down at his meal. He would eat, maybe that would give the guard time to recover from whatever was bothering him.

______

He sat and ate slowly, though the food was bland and not enough. He slowly cleaned his bowl with the bread roll he had received, eyes barely leaving the other’s face. He was pale, still breathing too softly and sweat was beading on his forehead.  
Licking the crumbs off his fingers, Valjean stood. He walked over to the entrance and looked out, peering up and down the corridor. No one was there. He could easily leave. He walking quietly back over to the sentinel. The man’s face almost had a blue tinge to it now. Could he leave? He would be free, from a physical cell at least. He looked into the man’s dark eyes. Would he start breathing properly on his own again? Would anyone soon come looking for him? The other guards had made it clear they did not care for him. If he left, would that make him a murderer? He did not literally put his hands around the man’s throat, but would God ask why he did not assist anyway?

Though it pained him, there really was no choice. He slowly detached the rapier from the man’s hip. He was stronger than the man, but did not wish to risk such harm. Having set the weapon down by the wall, Valjean wrapped his arms slowly around the sentinel, tucking his face into his neck.

He did not truly know what he was doing, but he allowed instinct to guide him. The guard gave a soft whimper, and folded into him. Valjean sagged slightly at the unexpected weight, leaning back into the wall and sinking to the floor. He gazed longingly at the way out as Javert curled into his arms and slept.

He did not move. Until Javert stirred and bolted, several hours later, Valjean held still, protecting his sentinel against his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Javert did not comment upon this event to the convict. He was strangely silent about their night, neither more aggressive towards him, nor did he increase in gentleness. In fact, Valjean would have thought it one of those almost tangible dreams if not for one important factor: He could now _feel_ Javert. Not physically, of course. His sentinel did not come close enough for actual contact anymore, but in his mind, _his heart_ he could feel Javert. 

It was often distracting, no matter what he was doing. He could be sat eating his gruel and experience mild anger, or staring at the sky and feel an almost unbearable misery. Once, he had been breaking rocks and noted a distant loneliness in his mind. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the feelings Valjean felt across this ribbon of emotion tended to be negative. A little over a week after their odd incident, Valjean had felt a surge of arousal, which had made him flush. The way he could feel Javert’s emotions now was already far stronger than his natural empathy for those around him, but this had been approaching overwhelming. 

He had put no thought into reaching down to palm himself, it was night after all. No one was focussed on him. However, too soon after this came the negative emotions Javert seemed to be made up of, including a perplexing amount of anger, of disgust at himself. Valjean was left with a despairing feeling of low self-worth that did not belong to him.

The convict spent the rest of the night trying to send positive feelings to his sentinel, and he chose not to think too deeply about his reasons for doing so. 

Apart from their odd connection, there was one other change to his relationship with Javert that no longer fit that of convict and jailer, though they were once again at the end of summer before he saw it. Valjean had been caught brawling. 24996 (and Valjean did not know his name, nor did he wish to learn it,) was a murderer. This in itself was not a problem. In Toulon, there was a selection of murderers. This particular beast took great pleasure in describing his deeds. Again, this was nothing new; many men did so as a means to protect themselves from any threats that were waiting in the prison. 

24996 very much enjoyed explaining how he had killed, and how he had desecrated the bodies of his victims. Feeling the joy pulsing from 24996 as he loudly told of his necrophilia, thrusting his hips in the directions of the guards made Valjean’s stomach churn horrifically. He was not the only one. Many other convicts were uneasy near him; his pride in these acts unsettled even some of the more hardened criminals. 

The tipping point was, however, Javert. 24996 took a great fancy to about 3 young guards, and Javert was one of them. Late into the cooling evening, Javert had been patrolling with Beausoleil, another of 24996’s fancies. Valjean felt a great deal of relief to see his sentinel conversing with another guard in such a manner, because Beausoleil was showing his honest feelings in his actions, there were no undercurrents of anger, or jealousy to be found him.

The evening was rapidly spoilt by the viper watching them.

“Well, aren’t the 2 of you lovely to look at? Such fresh skin and pretty eyes... I was an artist before I was trapped in here, would you pose for me?”

Valjean felt a protective irritation bubble up inside himself. Javert scowled, his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier.

“You would look beautiful, your milky white skin against his tanned skin, surrounded by the lovely red of your pulsing blood...” He was panting now, lust flooding through him. The 2 guards were both irritated and uncomfortable. 

They stepped forwards, both prepared to draw their weapons, but Valjean got there first. He took 2 quick strides to cross the cell and throw his strength at his nose. 24996 went down with a howl, but it was not enough. Valjean had to purge these ugly feelings the beast filled the cell with and he continued to attack.

______

He paid the price for it later, of course. He was taken outside and whipped. This was only brief though, because while his outstretched arms were tied and preventing him from viewing what was going on, he could hear an inhuman snarl. 

“Untie him, now!” One of the older jailers called out.

“But sir? He has not received his full punishment...” Nonetheless, quick hands were undoing the leather bindings.

As he dropped to the ground, Valjean turned to see Javert stood facing the guards. He was edging back towards Valjean, but did not take his eyes off the guard holding the whip.

“Back away,” whispered the jailer, “Javert can dole out this punishment at a later point in time.” And they were alone in the small courtyard.

Javert spun around and slowly approached him, gazing at him with large eyes.

“I’m fine. Honestly, a few bruises and some sore spots, but I am fine.” Valjean was unsure as to why he was reassuring this guard, but the need was overwhelming. Javert shuffled uncertainly closer, a soft growl still emitting from his throat. 

He placed one hand on Valjean shoulder, and spun him around. His guide went willingly, allowing the other a view of his back. He waited to see if the man had regained his speech yet, and jumped when a tongue pressed against one of the lash marks.

“No, no... Come here.” Turning back, he held open his arms. His sentinel was against him in a flash, pressing close. “Shhh...” He petted Javert’s hair, running fingers over it. His mind was buzzing oddly, but he could feel Javert’s concern underneath his protective instinct. The man’s cold nose pressed into his neck, and he listened to him sniff. 

The sun was sinking in the sky before Javert roused himself. He stepped back and the natural scowl fell across his features.

“I apologise... No! I mean... I... You will receive your punishment tomorrow instead.” Confusion and anger had settled in, the concern for the convict a light pressure in comparison. Valjean felt an odd desire to laugh. The attraction he felt towards Javert (and no longer could he deny its existence) had not faltered in face of the day’s events.

Pushing making the mortifying endearment he felt watching his sentinel struggle to find his words and thoughts after losing himself in instinct, Valjean covered up his throbbing body and turned to present his back to Javert, wrists held behind him. It was leather, rather than cuffs that bound him, but Valjean absently supposed that the other hadn’t thought to grab any in his hurry to reach him. 

He did wish there was someone around who could improve his knowledge of sentinels; it would be terribly useful to explain this strange connection between them.


	3. Chapter 3

After the incident where Javert had gone animal on them, he had doled out Valjean’s punishment. He still bore the scars. The convict did not blame him. The mocking he had heard following the young man had been quite notable. 

Javert had been harsh with him, the lashes had been painful. It was bearable because he knew Javert had had to bury his own protective instinct towards him. Some prideful part of him thrilled at the idea. Javert also learnt how to treat him exactly the same as the other prisoners afterwards though. No longer did he feel that brief warmth that had flared in Javert whenever the convict was near, now he was just 24601.

______

He made other escape attempts, but at the time of his beatings for them, he could not feel the closeness of Javert in Toulon. The idea that the man left him was more painful than being lashed, though he would never admit it. The years had passed though and his sentinel no longer reacted to him as a person.

However, Valjean observed the feeling, kept a mental note of it and placed it to the back his mind, along with ideas of how to cope if Javert ever left the jail... If he- No! _When!_ When he left Toulon. He would leave, but Javert would not join him. These days, the most he saw of Guard Javert was usually out whatever pit of filth, looking down on them. 

Recently, he mused as he helped haul an old, battered ship into the docks for repairs, recently Javert had been projected a lot of misery in his direction. It made him want to hold his sentinel close, but it had been many years since Javert had allowed him near.

He joined in the miserable song of the convicts, sung often to help them haul in time. Look down... _Look down, Javert. Look down and see me with those sharp eyes. See Jean Valjean, smell him! Feel him... Look down. Guard Javert._

He realised, with a jolt, he did not know Javert’s name. His family name, yes. But with the precursor of Guard, gypsy, sentinel... no first name. He frowned, thinking... he could not imagine him with a name. It sounded harsh, but Javert was simply _his_.

He shoved the thought violently back down. It had no place. He shut his eyes, pulling in time with the others and tried to remember the woodlands he saw in his dreams, the large grizzly bear that that joined him in there. It was calming, the thought of joining the bear, ambling through the trees... 

There was usually something following him, in his dreams; dangerous, but not a threat. He always felt at ease. As they shuffled slowly back, the chains weighing them down, Javert stepped in front of him.

“Retrieve the flag.” Valjean mutely turned and squatted. He did as his sentinel asked. A smug feeling drifted so softly through him that he was unsure if it belonged to himself or Javert, or even one of the other convicts.

“Now, prisoner 24601. Your time is up and your parole’s begun. You know what that means.” His sentinel’s voice, oddly soft and speaking more words to him than he had before. His sentinel’s voice, granting him his freedom.

“Yes,” He smiled, taking his yellow passport, “It means I’m free.”

“No... Follow to the letter your itinerary. This badge of shame you’ll show until you die. It warns you are a dangerous man.” His sentinel was looking at the yellow parchment in his hands. He wanted those eyes on his face.

“I stole a loaf of bread.” He looked at the guard imploringly, willing him to understand. “My sister’s child was close to death! We were starving...”

“You will starve again, unless you learn the meaning of the law!” How could this man be his? He did not seem to know compassion. Their eyes met and Javert seemed to be trying to say something else to him. He allowed his own disgust to intercept it, to stop this message reaching him. If Javert had something else to he, he ought to say it aloud.

“I know the meaning of those 19 years – a slave of the law!” He dropped his eyes, once again allowing the negative emotions of those around to wash over him like a horrible wave.

“5 years for what you did, the rest because you tried to run.” Not that he regretted that much. The thought of never meeting this man, even if it meant his avoiding jail, left another of those unpleasant feelings in his stomach. He could have finished his sentence and just missed the arrival of a still baby-faced Javert. “Yes! 24601!”

“My name is Jean Valjean!” To hear it from those lips would be a pleasure, he decided, even if it was snarled. 

“And I’m Javert!” He felt a moment of ill humour. He knew who this man was. This was his sentinel. His Javert, still no first name... 

“Do not forget my name.” Urged Javert, leaning close. Valjean leaned back, lest he grab the other with his hair curling where it escaped from his hat, soaked in the spray of the sea and the sweat that dripped down his face. It was desirable. “Do not forget me, 24601.”

He would not, but he turned from the man, watching the remaining few prisoners exit. He stepped up, out the docks, away. Free. He could feel the sentinel’s eyes tracking him. He could not feel the man though, his own shock pulling his weight up and away. Free to leave. He could not believe it.

He stumbled his way along, feeling the breeze so cool on his neck; his unchained neck. It was lovely. He was _free_.

______

 

It was less than a week later when he realised the odd pain he had was not hunger. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with food.

It was not rejection, despite the fact that the yellow paper had him refused entrance to so many places. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with company.

It was not even poverty, though that he did feel like a keen knife edge. It cut into him and the salt rubbed in was his severed wages in comparison with lazier men. It was an emptiness that could not be filled with material wealth.

He wanted his sentinel. The harsh man that filled him with anger, the man whom he wanted to both beat and protect. Angered, he stalked through the town, feeling their rejection more harshly than usual. Settling down to sleep outside the Cathedral, he was irritated when an elderly woman questioned his presence. He was not a threat. How could he explain that he could feel their pain? He would not hurt them. He did not correct her when she called him a soldier, he took her 4 sous, and then he followed her suggestion to see Monseigneur Bienvenu.


	4. Chapter 4

The Bible says ‘Knock and the door shall be opened.’ Valjean found that, for once, it was. He was faced with one kindly face, and two harsh ones. The elderly man felt kindly. His knapsack fell from his shoulder and words tumbled out. He did not lie, not even for somewhere to sleep. He found he could not even hold back the truth, at once explaining that he was a convict on parole.

Once he started, the words would not stop. How alone he was, how lost. Even the dogs rejected him. He offered to pay, he did not have a lot but he had earned his money and he would give it to them. He pleaded, desperate to be treated like any other man. 

The man simply turned to one of the women and requested she laid another place at his table.

Valjean frowned. This did not make sense. This kindly man would not have him eat beside them, surely? He was a convict! He felt the need to explain again. He was not an honest man, but a thief. If they could just allow him to sleep out of the way somewhere... perhaps a stable?

But no. He was invited to dinner and given a bed in the house.  
Was he an innkeeper? It seemed too good to be true. He tried to prevent himself projecting his emotions at them, but the wonder was difficult to keep a hold of. This kindly person. 

A priest? The man called himself a priest? He was Heaven-sent then! This was wonderful; he did not have to spend his prison-earned money either. He felt excitement, joy, a whole variety of emotions he had not truly believed in anymore. His tongue continued to wag, his long term aversion to talking gone.

He was free, and this was a priest. At last, things were looking up.

He was seated near the fire for their meal, and the housekeeper produced 2 beautiful silver candlesticks upon request. Something still bothered him though. Could the man not see? He was not worthy of this.

He called him brother, as though this was all he needed to know. Valjean tried to correct him, to explain what prison was like, and how even the dogs were better off...

“There is more rejoicing in Heaven over the tears of one sinner who repents than over the white robes of a hundred who are virtuous.” The man told him. It stuck in his heart, those words. The idea that he could repent, that he would be listened to, and noticed, as more than a thief.

Valjean ate with the man, drank the wine offered. The topic somehow avoided the past, where he came from and what he did to end up with 19 years under the lash of Toulon. After the meal, he was shown to a small alcove, reaching it by passing through the priest’s own room. A terror gripped him. A panic. To be shown such mercy, such love! He could feel the honesty of it seeping from the man. He held no secrets, yet asked no questions. His trust was reasoned as ‘God’s affair’. 

The man blessed him and left. Valjean thoughts were thrown into turmoil. It was too much! It was too strange! He sat on the soft bed and buried his face in his hands, letting out a soft moan. He was confused.

He was a convict; surely the man ought to put him out with the horses, with the animals. He was on a soft bed with clean sheets. He shut his eyes and half clung to the irritation and resentment, the confusion and the fear of the 2 women that resided here. That he could deal with. That was expected.

He said a brief, hesitant prayer to God, feeling obligated to do so and give his thanks in this place. He did not stay in prayer long, no longer used to the idea. Removing his boots, Valjean lay back on the gentle resting place and began trying to settle down.

 

______

It was in the early hours that Valjean awakened, his discomfort the overly comfortable bed. He lay for long time thinking. The silver in the next room would more than double his own money. The man was a fool, to allow him the sleep so close to it.

A fool? Or was the man simply a saint? No, a fool. He eventually sat up and moved slowly into the room, eyes focussing on the sleeping figure. There was no confusion, no panic coming from him. He had to be asleep.

Silently, Valjean filled his knapsack with silver from the basket and climbed out the window.

He ran through the gardens and into the street, his knapsack was unexpected burden. It felt so heavy. But, it was done. He deliberately shielded his heart, desperate not to feel anything.

So lost in his thoughts, he walked straight into 3 gendarmes. They demanded his papers. He showed his yellow ticket. They demanded his knapsack. He handed it over, clinking with silver. They demanded to know where he had spent the night. He told them.

The sergeant frowned, and immediately ordered them to cuff his hands. He pleaded, trying to project honesty at them as he lied, claiming they were a gift from the priest he had stayed with. He was not practiced at projecting honesty. It was not something he’d ever tried, because no one really cared how honest he was once they saw his papers.

He was marched back to the house and Valjean’s heart sank. He would have to see this kind, loving and trusting priest again. He would have to see the disappointment. He could not imagine the man would be anger, merely hurt. This would be more upsetting than anger, which he could cope fine with.

Upon seeing the priest, the sergeant called out “Monseigneur-”

Valjean’s blood froze. No, he was just a priest. He was silenced in his confusion, but the priest, no. The bishop smiled at him and informed him he had left behind the candlesticks.

He felt himself trembling. How could anyone be this kind? He curled in on himself, guilt flooding his whole being. No...

He was released, and handed the candlesticks. His mind in shock, he took them.

“Oh, brother.” Whispered the pr- the Bishop. He was staring into the face of a convict, a dirty thief. How could he still feel so warm? “I did not realise what you are. My deepest apologies.”

The Bishop straightened up and thanked the gendarmes. They left, with no little amount of confusion and frustration.

“My dear sister, would you mind terribly heating some water? I feel a hot drink would be much appreciated.” He took Valjean’s arm and pulled gently. The guide stumbled to his feet, confusion still warring alongside guilt in his mind.

Sat at the table, the Bishop laced his fingers together, his expression sombre.

“Where is your sentinel?”

Valjean jerked back, his mind calling a temporary truce as he stared at the kind man.

“My... Sentinel?”

“Yes. I do apologise for not noticing your surface bond earlier. Of course you are struggling.”

“You... believe in them?”

“Believe in them? My brother, of course I do. God gave me extra senses that I may assist others. I will admit, my touch is not all it could be, and my smell has long since gone. But God gave me wonderful eyes and ears to make up for this.”

“You? You... are a sentinel?” What? Things were... overwhelming.

“Absolutely. I again can only offer my apologies for not realising you are a Guide.”

“A guide?”

“You have never spoken about it with anyone? Ah, thank you my dear.” He accepted the hot drink from his sister. She placed one beside Valjean as well, before exiting the room. He took no notice of it.

“I shall start at the beginning then. Do you know what we are?”

“I... I can feel people. This I know.” 

“Yes. You are a guide. Highly empathic people. I imagine your crime was caused in a state of heightened emotion? And probably for the good of someone else. Guides tend to be close to certain people, and highly protective of them. Oh, forgive me again. I am not having a good time with you. I meant not to ask of your past, I do not wish to cause you more pain.”

“No. It is ... fine.” He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I stole bread, for my sister son.”

“Oh, brother...” Those sympathetic eyes seemed to pierce his cold heart, warmth started to spread along cracks. “And sentinels? You know of them?”

“Only what I learned in prison. They have good hearing, and smell. Yes?”

“They can have heightened hearing, smell, taste, touch or sight. Or a combination of these. I imagine there are those who have all 5. I have but 2 and it is enough.” He smiled at the convict, who no longer looked so lost. “It is a wonderful gift from God. Is this all you know?”

“I... someone told me they are half a soul, oh and they stare off at nothing sometimes. And can be so terribly protective they forget their words.”

The Bishop chuckled, a broad grin directed at him. “Half a soul? I have not heard it described thus before. They... require a bond to work at their best. My sister is the other half of my bond. She keeps me focussed and centred.”

Valjean nodded, unsure of what to say but eager to learn more.

“What was next? Staring into nothing? I believe it is called a zone. I am fortunate to have never experienced one, my sister is always nearby. I read these are when a sentinel is distracted by one of their senses and cannot remove them self from it.”

“I saw one, I think. It was one of the guards at Toulon, he brought me my meal. I was in solitary, you see. He put it down, straightened up, and then stopped. It was... I... He stopped breathing properly.”

“How frightening for you. How did you cope?”

“Me? I was fine. It was Javert who went blue. I disarmed him and pulled him close. He curled into me, like a child and remained there for hours.”

“Then, you did what was best and pulled him from his zone then. This is what guides do, brother. They help.”

Valjean smiled, he felt warm. It was a good feeling and this understanding was calming. 

“Now... protective?”

“Yes. He... I was being lashed for an escape attempt. I did not see what he did, but the guards released me because he was making these... animal noises at them.”

The Bishop took a sip of his tea. He did not flinch at the mention of such violence, nor did he smile through it. The man was a very good listener.

“I expect he could not take you being hurt. Did you have a bond? Do you know what that is? It links a sentinel to his guide. The guide keeps his sentinel grounded, in reality and the sentinel protects his guide and keeps him safe.”

“ _His_ guide and _his_ sentinel? And grounded how?”

“You brought him back when he got lost in his senses, yes? You brought him back when he got lost in animal instinct as well, I imagine. You look after him and in your own way, you protect him. You could feel his emotions more strongly than anyone else’s, I suppose? Even when you were not near each other?”

“I... Yes.” Valjean sighed. He was exhausted. He recounted for the Bishop how Javert had had to deal out the lashes himself, but how on later beatings had disappeared from the jail. How he had been able to tell his sentinel had gone.

“You want to know how to cope then, yes? How to fill that empty space? I would recommend letting God help you. He will keep you strong, He will protect you. Until you find your sentinel again, allow God to assist in regulating your emotions, else you continue to pick up those of everyone around you. Let God steady you.”

Valjean stared at this wonderful Bishop, who gave so freely and smiled so easily. God? God would help him? How could God change the opinions of those who saw his yellow passport? He thanked the man quietly, before walking out into the gardens and staring out, beyond the wall. 

God? Yes. He would let God guide him. He shredded his parchment, choosing to make a new start.

He gazed out at the coming morning, and felt a stab of curiosity at how Javert was. He could get lost in his senses and instincts? No. Other sentinels, maybe. But Javert was stronger than that. He would be fine.


	5. Chapter 5

He was being transferred again. He never seemed to stay in one area very long. Javert sighed and raised his eyes from the letter; the sky was grey, it felt fitting.

He would never openly admit it, but it was troublesome that no one wanted to work with him. He knew what he was, his mother had told him as much as she had known as soon as he had started having problems with his various senses.

He also knew he had once gotten too close to a convict. They had, to his horror and frustration, formed something of a bond. He had hoped, when the other had been granted parole, that it was just a surface bond... This was not so, apparently. Despite his determination to keep away from 24601, they still seemed to have something between them.

Javert sighed quietly. He had felt safe around the thief, which had been highly aggravating. One of the junior officers shifted softly beside him. He informed the young man he would see his superior at the requested time, before turning and continuing on his patrol. 

His control over his senses had left as soon as he had gotten close to Jean Valjean. It did not seem fair that his ability to keep himself in this world should be so compromised by encountering another, and a criminal at that.

M sur M was not a large town, nor was it overly prosperous. He rather well hoped he could settle there. The longer he was in one location, the easier it became to focus. 

______

His first night spent in this new town was uncomfortable. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, even though Madame Durante insisted they were the newest ones. It was quiet though, at least it was in comparison with the city he had been in. He shut his eyes and imagined a quiet forest, no people. The area was mostly silent, just the rustling of the leaves, the breathing of Alma, his spirit guide. He reduced his hearing, years of practice aiding him in doing so with speed.

Noise dulled, eyes shut and body as relaxed as he could manage; Javert drifted off to sleep.

______

“You aren’t supposed to do that without your guide.” Javert turned, frowning lightly at Alma. The red wolf, settled herself on the grass, dark eyes focussed on him.

“I don’t have a guide. And I need to be up early, I require sleep.” She scoffed at him, wriggling on her back as though to get an itch.

“You have a guide.” The scorn in her voice clear. She did not approve of him rejecting Valjean.

“He is a convict. One who has escaped his parole. It would not surprise me if he is in jail again, being held for yet another crime. Men do not change.”

He lay back and stared at the sky. It was, as usual when he came here, night. The stars were out and the moonlight was strong enough to see by. In a haunting way, it was beautiful. It reminded Javert of being a child, when his mother used to take him into the woods to see if he could find his way out again.  
He swept his eyes across the sky, quickly finding Polaris.

“You know he is not in jail. You can feel it, as can I.”

“No.” 

She snorted, but said nothing. He lay beside her in silence. She would make her point eventually, it was the reason she still came to see him. She was capable of allowing him no conversation though, this comfortable silence. He watched the moon float softly through the night, the stars shifting slowly along behind it.

He was thankful his eyes could not view the stars better. They were a very long way away to focus on. He wondered if Valjean would improve his focus enough to allow him to try, before dismissing the idea. He had zoned in the man’s company once before. That was what had started all this trouble anyway.

The man’s scent was enchanting, even under the filth of Toulon, Javert had found himself interested. He had awakened in the man’s arms though, face pressed into that thick neck, breathing in his smell. It had been both wonderful and terrifying.

Since then though, things had gone downhill. He had found a blinding fury at the idea that anyone would hurt Valjean, but thankfully he was able to remove himself from the prison whenever he was in line for a lashing. 

He also found a new and troubling problem with zoning. He was so easily distracted by things, by sights, smells, noises... sometimes, a thing brushing across his skin would command all his attention.  
Alma insisted he had to find Valjean again, that he could even claim it to be part of his duty and the convict had broken his parole. Unfortunately, he could not. 

There was an unbearable sadness about it, but one thief who had served his time was not as important as those in the act of breaking the law. He had to continue the work he was doing. Even if he found him, would he be strong enough to hand him over to the prisons again? He hoped so.

He had to be. There was nothing else for Valjean. The man would never agree to stay with Javert. He was not a pleasant man to be around, he was aware. He had a nasty sense of humour, he had been informed. He was silent until a remark forced its way past his lips. Who had he insulted now, that he had been moved to this place though?

Alma shifted herself over, settling on his stomach. He laid a hand on her soft fur and simply allowed himself to rest. He was exhausted. His heart was stone, cold and heavy. It did not comfortably rest in his chest, but left a deep chasm. He had yet to find anything but his snuff to even begin filling it. And his snuff was a reward, for when he did something well. 

His chest felt both heavy and oddly empty at once, on far too many occasions.


	6. Chapter 6

Jean Valjean was no more. Now, there was a quiet factor owner, known as père Madeleine. He was a quiet, but generous man. He gave well to charity, and to good causes. He had given to the hospital, to schools, to whoever was in need. He was a sombre man though, rarely smiling, as though he had suffered a great pain in his life and it had left him most devastated.

Perhaps he had lost a child, people thought. It would explain his determination to make the lives of the young gamin better. Maybe a wife? He was always alone, never taking female company. Regardless of the reason, people did not openly ask him.

As père Madeleine became Monsieur Madeleine, people began to talk? Who was this man with pure motives? Surely such a person did not exist. In this world, no one had such great empathy for others that they would help any who asked. However, M. Madeleine did.

He did not question motives, simply giving to those who asked. His factors were successful, aiding the town in becoming a wealthier place to live. People had jobs, jobs with decent pay and that meant food could be bought and rent paid.

It was in 1820, when a new inspector was appointed to the town that M. Madeleine started to look even more troubled. He already had a rare smile, but now it had gone entirely. A frown frequented his face.

People gossiped. Did he know the inspector? M. Madeleine must have lived where the inspector used to be. They must know one another. Perhaps they had argued. Was the inspector the reason M. Madeleine came to the town five years ago, looking so unhappy.

It was clear when the inspector noticed M. Madeleine that they had met. The man looked over at their factor owner and froze. He had sniffed and then rocked on his feet, as though undecided on whether or not to confront him. The police inspector had turned and left briskly.

It had made people talk even more! What had happened that had rocked even the formidable inspector Javert? He may not have been here long, but his reputation preceded him, and those who did not know that learned soon enough.

What had happened between the two men, that it would affect them so greatly? A few speculated that maybe the Monsieur had had a child, that she ran away with the inspector, leaving Madeleine alone. This was dismissed by others, who claimed Javert would not abandon his duty for anything, certainly not for something as frivolous as love.

Other wondered if perhaps the love had occurred between the two men. That Madeleine had been unfortunate enough to fall for a man with a heart of stone, and had been bluntly rejected. This one was definitely more possible, except it was hard to image the quiet man making any bold declarations of love, and what was there about the inspector that anyone, even a man as kind as Madeleine, could fall for?

Some wondered if perhaps Madeleine had been suspected of a crime, then later found innocent. Perhaps the inspector had not agreed with the verdict. Again, there were those who believed it, but most could not see a man as good as M. Madeleine committing a crime. This was argued back as the reason he gave so much back to society, he was not a complete philanthropist, but a man with a guilt he needed God to release him from.

Whatever excuse people invented and spread the truth was not guessed; that Javert was a sentinel, he had formed a surface bond with a thief while in a prison and when the man had left, he had taken a part of Javert with him that had left him broken. Not that the guide did not feel the pain too, but his love of God gave him relief and his ability to use his empathy without severe consequences kept him functioning.

Madeleine was contented in his work as a factory owner. He was contented with the town of Montreuil-sur-Mer. He gave to the poor and kept a simply life. He felt when Javert entered the town.

It was a strange feeling, the warmth flooding through as it had not done in a long time. It had taken him a moment, sat in his office and looking over papers, to identify what it was. He had had to stamp down on his desire to jump up and hunt down his sentinel; his long buried concern for the man rushing to the surface. 

Had Javert managed to control his zones? Had he suffered for Valjean’s abandoning him? Had something terrible happened that he had been sent to this small town with a low crime rate? He had, at noon, stood and walked along to the Town Hall. He managed to catch a glimpse of the large mayor and his sentinel. He dug his nails into his palms as he was almost overwhelmed by jealousy. 

How dare this large man stand beside his sentinel? How dare he grasp his hand and smile like that? Javert was _his_! 

Javert turned his head slightly, eyes searching through the crowd as though looking for someone. Madeleine lowered his head, allowing the hat to cover his face. He couldn’t allow Javert to see him he would not go back to jail while he was here. These people needed him.

He raised his head slightly, taking in the man’s appearance. He seemed well. He had filled out with muscle, though his face still seemed thin. His eyes looked tired, and his skin was pale but it was possible that was from the burden of travel. His hair, while still fairly short, now fell across his forehead and his eyes were, of course, frowning. 

Madeleine let out a sigh of relief. His sentinel looked wonderful, his customary bad mood filled the guide’s senses and he could not help the smile that came to his lips. He would have been tense if Javert had smiled at the mayor. Javert was far too attractive to go about smiling at fellows.

He turned and headed back to his office, trying not to think about the mayor’s term coming to an end. If he was asked, he might not refuse the job this time. He would see a great deal of Javert.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the time this story is set, 1 louis d'or = 20 francs.

It took effort, that was for certain. He had already rejected the idea of being mayor once; there would be those who did not approve of him as their leader anymore. He took real effort in projecting his honesty and trustworthiness. He had discovered how to do this much better in recent times, no longer just a vague idea but he knew how to focus to get what he wanted.

He occasionally passed Javert, and the man always frowned at him when they did. He knew he ought to keep out of the inspector’s way until he achieved his goal, but Madeleine was beginning to miss the man terribly. Nonetheless, he persevered. He avoided close contact while Javert where possible, he kept his concentration on impressing the people of this town. 

If Javert recognised him, and tried asking around about him, he wanted these people confident he had always been here. He wanted to be a strong figurehead so that any claims Javert made against him would be brushed aside. 

He spent the remainders of his spare time lost in thought. Could Javert smell him? Would he, like a hound or wild animal, recognise his scent? He wondered if his sentinel had just a couple of increased senses, or if he had been blessed with an increase in all of them.

Frequently, in his dreams, he ran through that forest with his bear. His bear tended to be searching for something these days. He was not sure what, though. Perhaps the shadow that used to be close by...

It was during one of his mid-morning walks, through the rougher alleys of the town, where he often gave to those missed by the everyday market-goers that Madeleine heard a commotion.

Monsieur Fauchelevent was trapped under his cart. His horse had fallen, and Madeleine felt an empathic pressure on his chest. It was painful, but there was something keeping him from becoming absorbed in it, even with the old man projecting his feelings out so strongly.

Stepping further into the alley, Madeleine saw that the Inspector was there. He heard him send for a jack, to lift the cart from the man’s chest. It would take too long...

He stepped forwards to get a better view, the pain that echoed in him pushing each step. 

“Monsieur,” The young gamin ran back into the alley and up to Javert. The child couldn’t have been more than seven, but he boldly hurried forwards and tugged on his coat sleeve. Javert looked down, and allowed the child to pull him into a crouch. 

Madeleine was unable to hear what the child said, but there was an outcry by one of the women close by. “A quarter of an hour? That is not quick, child!”

“I am sure,” Javert stated, a hand resting briefly on the child’s head as he shuffled behind the inspector, away from the loud response, “that the blacksmith will be coming with all his haste. It is not a short walk though, not when burdened with something heavy.”

“This can’t wait a quarter of an hour.” Madeleine exclaimed, his voice loud above the murmurs of the crowd. It was raining; the water loosened the ground, turning it into mud. The cart was sinker further, crushing the man’s ribs.

“There is time for a man to get under and push the cart off. He could be saved in under half a minute.” Madeleine looked around, feeling distressed. “I’ll give five Louis d’or to any man with the muscle and heart.” 

“Ten...” No one moved, “Twenty!” He would offer anything; man’s life was worth more than material goods. The offer of nearly 400 francs was tempting. One man pointed out quietly that a person would have to be devilishly strong to lift the cart.

“It is not that we don’t want to,” the voice of his sentinel filled him with warmth, despite the situation. “It’s a question of strength. You need to be tremendously strong to lift a load like that one your back.”

Javert stepped closer to him, a curious look on his face as two dark eyes scanned him up and down. The man stopped just shy of his personal space and took a deep breath. He shut his eyes for a few long moments, and Madeleine froze; his body unwilling to let him move backwards.

“I have only known one man, Monsieur Madeleine, capable of doing what ask.” Those eyes still focussed on him, “He was a convict.”

“Ah...”  
“In Toulon prison.”

Madeleine’s stomach dropped away. So the inspector had recognised him. Would he shout it out and capture the guide, even with a man dying?

“I’m suffocating. My ribs are breaking. For God’s sake, do something!”

Madeleine repeated his offer, and Javert responded that he only knew one man capable of acting in the stead of a jack. The old man cried out again.

Valjean could not stand by. The Bishop had not bought his soul for him to waste that gift. He could praise God as well here as he could in jail, but not if he had a death weighing it down. He looked sadly at his sentinel and gave him a slight smile.

Valjean walked over to Fauchelevent and quickly went under the cart. He shouted to the old man, who demanded he leave, else he be crushed as well. The ex-convict pushed himself to his hands and knees, the continued to rise, face flushed with exertion. 

“Hurry up! Help me!” he cried, and suddenly there were many hands assisting him. 

Fauchelevent was saved, but the factory owner was white and sweating. He allowed his gaze to fall on Javert, who stared blankly back at him.

He stood, caked in mud and with an old man hugging his knees in gratitude. His much desired sentinel stood by, expression blank to most, but his face had a mild flush to it, and his eyes were large and dark. His breathing was heavy and he was twitching lightly. Was it in desire to aid the guide, to keep him from danger, or to re-arrest a man who had broken parole?

Jean Valjean stood tall and straight. He kept his eyes on Inspector Javert, who did not seem to know what to do.


	8. Chapter 8

It was not terribly long after rescuing the old man that Valjean was elected Mayor. He still felt very cautious about Javert, his sentinel may not have done anything yet, but the man would never back down from what he believed to be the just course.

The first time he wore the official robes, the inspector had been nearby. He had actually seen the shudder that ran though his sentinel. There it was, amongst the disgust and irritation: A feeling of arousal. 

He would have to work on that. If his sentinel realised that he was not some monster, but a good person, perhaps they could be close. Perhaps, if Javert allowed them a conversation as equals...

He quickly realised that he should have known better. Javert was unbendingly formal with him. The man often seemed unable to meet his gaze, in the few occasions when they were forced into meeting. Valjean did not take it as a slight. There was still that warm feeling of arousal that put his sentinel at such unease underneath his other emotions.

He started focussing on the town, making things right. If his sentinel saw he was reliable then they could get closer. He would not accept coming so far, only to be stopped before getting the man.

He started by delivering letters to the station himself instead sending a boy. He got to know the officers working there. Some of them were pleasant enough, happy to talk to their beloved mayor; others were quietly hostile around him. 

It was not until he came to the station late one evening that he realised how hostile they were. The worst- it was not all directed at him. Some of the men did resent him, those who heard the town’s gossip about the different things he might be after, this he did not so much mind.

It was when he heard Javert arguing with one of the men that he realised their opinions of the inspector were not unanimous.

“I will not have this discussion!” The hard voice of Sentinel Javert rang through the air.

“Why not, inspector? It is a perfectly valid discussion!” The angered voice of one of the older officers. “Your attention is appalling. You frequently allow yourself to become distracted, and this is not the sort of person that should be running this town’s police!”

“Monsieur? Inspector Javert is very good at his job...” the soft and hesitant voice of another officer, Martin, if he correctly remembered.

“Good? In some aspects, yes. He can hear things streets away, and he can smell blood very well. I’ve seen him spot things in the distance that I can’t even see and describe them in detail. This is not the problem I have! He loses himself in that animalistic nature sometimes. That is my first problem.”

“Lose myself in it? How dare you. You grunt and rut yourself up against anything then have the gall to call me an animal?”

“Oh, your virtue is intact, of this I am sure. But you snarl and growl like an animal. That little child the other day, yes? She was beaten by her guardian for stealing and you could hardly contain yourself. That is not justice, that is blindness!”

“I did not see the need to beat her so harshly or humiliate her by doing so in public...” His voice was softer now. Valjean considered moving into the room. It was wrong to stay hidden and eavesdrop.

“You are like that with all children. It is not your responsibility unless they turn up dead.”

He felt the irritation flare in more than just Javert. Several of the police did not like that statement anymore than he himself did.

“My next problem is your focus though. That fire, a few weeks ago. You stood and stared at it, completely distracted. You even turned your back on it to watch the smoke. You would have burnt more than your coat tails if someone had not pulled you away.”

“I...” He had zoned near a fire? Valjean felt a distress ripple through him.

“You are a danger to yourself and others! If you will not quit, then at least take some leave!”

“I do not want you to quit, inspector. But... perhaps some leave would be good. You have not had a day off since you arrived. Not even Sundays.”

“Criminals do not rest just because it is the Sabbath.”

“No, Inspector, but maybe you could? Respectfully...”

There was silence. Valjean walked into the room.

The men were sat by one of the back desks, gathered around. 

“I have a letter, Javert.”

The man stood stiffly, and spun, moving out of the room to a back office. Valjean followed.

“Why do you do this to me?”

“Pardon?”

“I cannot... you just stood there and listened.”

“Yes. I was concerned.” He watched as Javert sat down heavily. His eyes had dark rings around them, and he could feel the weariness flowing off him. “You are zoning? And losing yourself?”

“It is your fault!” Anguished eyes rose up to settle on him. “If you had not made me bond with you!”

“I? How did I make you bond?” 

“I do not know, but when you left Toulon, I felt it.”

No more pretending then. Javert knew who he was. He did not draw his weapon though, so Valjean did not feel worried.

“How... did you deal with it?” His sentinel must have found something to act in his stead to have come so far. Valjean had found God, maybe the other had as well.

“I worked.” The law... he should have known. The man pressed his hands over his face. It was upsetting to see him so clearly distressed. He crouched down in front of Javert and looked at him.

Javert lowered his hands, but kept his head turned down. His eyes seemed to glisten, but he was thankfully not crying.

“You have not arrested me.” Javert jerked up, as though he had not expected Valjean to say that.

“No... I was going to send a letter but...” He looked uncomfortable.

“Walk with me.” He stood and held out a hand to Javert, who stared at it for a few long moments, before allowing his own to grasp it.


	9. Chapter 9

They bid goodnight to the few remaining policemen and stepped out into the cooling air. The evening had turned to night, and through the glare of the lamps, Valjean could see stars.

He refrained from grasping Javert’s hand again as they set off, the man following behind him almost like an abandoned puppy. 

The mayor was not certain where he was headed, but picked a street and walked down it. After another moment, Javert seemed to wake up. He began to walk along at his side, allowing his eyes to sweep the area. Valjean held back his smile; a policeman through and through.

He enjoyed the silence, the relief from his hidden identity finally letting itself be known. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Javert glanced at him, his lips twitching it what could have been a grimace or a smile, and continued on. He seemed terribly relaxed, but Valjean could still feel the confusion and an odd strand of terror in his sentinel. 

They took a turn towards the docks. The night air was still quite pleasant, and Valjean stopped. Next to him, Javert did as well, turning slightly and raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You will not arrest me?” He spoke in a low, quiet voice.

“No. I cannot have you go back to...” Javert sighed and scrubbed his eyes tiredly, “You are a guide...”

“Yes.”

“You are my guide.” He held up a hand to stop Valjean’s next words as he thought. “You... are bonded to me. I have thought about it, but I still cannot think of when it happened.”

“In Toulon, I imagine.”

“Yes, I expect so.” Said in a sarcastic voice. Valjean suppressed a grin. “When, though? I... occasionally black out and things are different when I come back to myself.”

“You do not remember zoning?”

“One individual time? No. Féret was right, it does happen unfortunately often.”

“It was a long time ago, I think just after you came. You brought me food after an escape attempt. You froze, and stopped breathing.”

“I remember taking you food, because everyone had eaten, yet none of the guards made a move to feed anyone in solitary...”

The man had a slight frown on his face; Valjean could not help but reach out and touch it. Javert jerked back to glare at him. Before he could apologise, Javert jerked slightly again. His eyes flitted around as he spun and began to move hurriedly down and alley.

Valjean followed. As the emerged near an officer’s cafe, there seemed to be a brawl occurring. He felt his own disgust stir, that such a thing was occurring in the town he put so much effort into bettering. 

Javert pushed himself through the crowd and instantly pulled the two apart. It was a man and a woman. Not a woman... she looked more a skeleton that had not realised it had died...

The man spun to leave as Javert busied himself with the woman, a wildcat, who was hissing and scratching, trying to reach the other again. Valjean grabbed him. He did not know what had occurred, but he could remember Javert once saying the innocent did not flee.

The woman, likely a prostitute he realised as he looked at her appearance, stopped fighting when she recognised Javert. Fear and shame flooded her and Valjean felt a measure of pity well inside him.

With the inspector there, the crowd quickly dispersed and Javert’s lips twitched slightly in that maybe smile again. He saw that Valjean had the other party and nodded his head.

“The station, then, Monsieur le Maire?”

“Of course.”

He kept a grip on the squirming man, trying not to grip his arm too hard. There was anger in the air from all direction. From the woman, likely because she had been mocked, or whatever it was this man did to set her off; From the man he held, likely because he had not been able to escape, and a scandal was not good for one with the look of a gentleman; From Javert, though that was unfortunately fairly regular; From himself, even. Their conversation had been interrupted, and it may not be easy to get his sentinel to open up again.

At the station, the four of them entered the small back room where the duty sergeant had placed a lighted candle on the table. Javert sat himself behind the desk and picked up his pen, as Valjean stood behind the man and the woman, keeping them apart.

He could feel indecision warring in Javert. He knew how prostitutes were usually treated by the police. They were imprisoned. What happened to the... victim? It did not seem quite the right word.

“Names?”

“Fantine, Monsieur l’Inspecteur. Please...” He nodded quietly at her, and turned his eyes to the other.

“Monsieur Bamatabois.” It struck Valjean as very rude, but he refrained from speaking. Fantine turned and hunched over as she let out a pained cough.

“I did nothing to warrant being hauled here like a criminal.” Bamatabois kept talking, as though the request for his name had freed his tongue. “You ought to let me go.”

“Then, what did happen?” Those cool eyes settled on him.

“I was merely smoking outside when she attacked me. I did nothing, monsieur.”

Fantine looked startled, and turned her eyes imploringly to Javert, but she did not yet speak. 

Javert looked down at the paper he had been writing on, before picking up his pen again to add something. He did not ask the prostitute what happened. Valjean knew he should not be surprised, the police did not often value the opinions of every human, and those who answered the call of the night in this manner were wholly at the mercy of the police.

“Madame, I have given you a choice. Time in a cell, or a fine. Monsieur, you have a fine to pay.”

The woman let out a pained cry, and Valjean’s heart felt for her.

“Cosette,” She whispered quietly. “I still owe so much...” But, her words were difficult to hear over the outraged cry of Bamatabois.

“What? A fine? I have done nothing wrong!” 

“You mocked and insulted her, then threw something at her?”

“I did no such thing!” The man’s face was reddening, but Javert remained firm.

“He stuffed snow down my dress, monsieur. It was not exactly... throwing something.”

“She is a whore! A slut! You would take her word over mine?”

“I heard you insult her. I heard an impact of something hitting her. It does not free her from her assault of you, but it would not be just to allow you to walk away.”

“A fine? Give it here.” The man was furious, he snatched the paper from Javert’s hand at stalked out, turning only once to have a final say. “I will make sure this is not forgotten, Monsieur l’Inspecteur!”

There was a moment of silence after, broken only by the coughing of Fantine.

“Please, Monsieur,” She whispered. “I cannot pay, for I have no money. And if I go to prison, then all I will earn in seven sous a day! I have a child. I owe the Thénardiers so much, I cannot do this. If I do not pay, they will turn my daughter out into the streets!”

“Your child?” Valjean could see the odd sentinel trait making itself known again; they did not like to see children suffer.

“Yes, Monsieur. She is with an innkeeper and his wife at Montfermeil. Please, Monsieur Javert. Good Monsieur Javert, it costs me 15 francs a month. Please...”

“Javert...” Valjean spoke up, desperate to help. This was the wrong thing to do. Her attention turned to him.

“Monsieur le maire, please...” Javert gave him a slight smile, but Fantine glared.

“You are the mayor?” And she spat in his face. “You are a brute of a mayor! If you have come here to frighten me you can forget it, I am only afraid of Monsieur Javert!”

Valjean frowned; he did not understand where this hostility came from. Javert felt equally confused.

“Monsieur,” she said, turning back to Javert, “I know they were just having a bit of fun, putting snow down a girl’s back. But this is my only silk dress, I need it for working. If I go to jail, I cannot pay for my daughter. I know you are fair, monsieur. Please...”

“I... Where did you say your daughter was? I shall go and see for myself.”

“Montfermeil, monsieur.” She smiled a terrible smile, her missing teeth clear.

Javert nodded, and she fainted.

 

______

 

_Trying to write this while watching Gladiator... It doesn't work too well. I look up and see Javert with his legs out angrily slaughtering people..._


	10. Chapter 10

When Javert returned it was late in the evening. The air was cool, and Javert’s face was inscrutable. He arrived at the mayor’s office with what he had brought back from Montfermeil.

“Two? You only went for one...”

Valjean stared at the man keeping a grip on the girls’ hands.

“If I was to bring Cosette, then the other had to come.” He huffed slightly, but didn’t let go. His eyes trailed off to the corner of the room. “The innkeeper and his wife are both awaiting trial now anyway.”

“You arrested them?” He never seemed to rest from his work.

“They were despicable.”

One of the girls sniffed, quietly. It was enough to turn his attention to them. Both girls were slim, one dressed in rags, the other in a mucky, but well made dress.

“They are both underfed.” Stated Javert, “Fantine’s daughter is this one.” 

The little girl with mucky blonde hair and ratty clothing on stepped forward, her eyes serious. She did not let go of Javert’s hand.

“This is Éponine; she is the innkeeper’s daughter. I could not leave her behind because Cosette in part of her pack.”

“What? Pack, like wolves?”

Valjean frowned, feeling confused, but Javert just rubbed his neck, looking more awkward than Valjean had ever seen him.  
“No. She appears to be a sentinel.”

Valjean started, and stared at the dark haired little girl. This he had not expected. He opened his mouth, once, twice, and then left it shut. He did not know what to say.

“She needs teaching though,” his sentinel spoke up when it was clear Valjean would not say anything.

“It seems she has been looking after Cosette in some manners, getting her food in particular, but she was fine with the girl being treated as little more than a slave. That is not good pack dynamics.”

“Oh...” He tried to think of something slightly more intelligent to say, but nothing occurred to him. Javert gave him an exasperated look, as though he was actually waiting for him to say or do something useful.

“I think they will have to stay with you though, monsieur. I only have one room, and I do not believe they should be split up.”

“I... I thought she would have to stay with you for the learning thing...”

“As I said, monsieur, I only have one room.” Javert looked uncomfortable.

“Jean, please.” He smiled at the man. He did not wish to be called monsieur when they had such a connection, but there was something false about being called Madeleine.

“Jean...” Valjean felt a warm thrill run through his body hearing his sentinel mutter his name. “I have plenty of room though, they gave me a good home when I became mayor; it was one of the few things I could not talk them out of.”

“They shall stay with you then.”

“No!” Wailed Cosette softly. She spun and grabbed a hold of Javert’s sleeve. “You cannot leave me. You are to be my Papa.”

“Hush, child. I am not your Papa. If you need one we can ask your mother. She is still in the hospital.” He looked less than comfortable with a clinging child.

“You can be my father then.” She looked at the inspector and firmly nodded her head, and then she looked over at Éponine, who nodded her head.

Javert gave Valjean a silently helpless look as he was faced with two young faces shining with determination. Valjean had to stop a laugh bubbling up inside him.

“Perhaps, Inspector Javert, you ought to just stay at my home as well. Then you do not have to split this little pack up.” Javert frowned at him, as though this was not the answer he wanted.

“This shall happen.” The soft, decided voice of Éponine Thénardier spoke up. She leaned over, took Cosette’s hand and led the girl over to the door. There, she turned to stare at Javert, as though willing him to hurry up.

Javert sighed and set off, leaving the office. Valjean automatically followed, not even thinking about whether or not it was acceptable to leave at this point in the day.

_______

At his home, Valjean stood and watched as the girls hungrily tucked into their soup and bread. 

“You wish for me to stay here?”

“It would be best.” He turned to look into his sentinel’s eyes, his instincts urging him closer. He placed a hand on his arm, feeling a warmth flood through his body.

Javert stepped slightly closer, his eyes glazing over. 

“Like... a pack?” He whispered, a Valjean smiled at the idea. A pack- a family. 

“Yes. A sentinel and his guide, then two children. One a sentinel as well. Oh, is Cosette...?”

“No, she is ordinary. Well, human at least.”

“She is quiet, and a little bit attached to you.”

“I am not sure what we will do.” Javert was once again looking troubled.

“What do you mean?” Valjean thought carefully, trying to find a problem, “I think it will work fine.”

“And when her mother recovers? She will want the girl with her.” The mayor nodded, “How do you think she will afford one girl, let alone two?”

“I...”

“Cosette... seems used to having less. And the Thénardiers were taking more than they needed to, so she should manage. However, I do not think she would be able to afford Éponine as well.”

Valjean nodded, taking a moment to quietly think. He watched as Éponine ate her meal, Cosette having already finished. The blonde little girl was sat running her fingers through the other’s hair. There seemed to be a bond between them, even if it was not that of guide and sentinel. Javert was letting little growls out, his eyes narrowed as he glanced over Cosette’s pitiful state.

The mayor shifted closer, and wrapped his arms around the inspector. 

“It’s fine,” he rubbed his back, “They will be happy now.”

Javert turned to him and pressed his face into his neck, breathing deeply. It was relaxing, holding his sentinel and watching the two girls. It felt more like home standing in this kitchen with his ex prison guard and two girls he had met today than it had since he came here.

He wanted to ask about completing their bond, to see if the man would mind, but he kept his mouth shut for the moment. It was tempting, and it was something he truly wanted, but to be this close to the man was a start.

It would be best to ease his way more firmly into Javert’s life first. Besides, they had a sick woman to visit.


	11. Chapter 11

The visit to the hospital was uncomfortable. Javert and Éponine came along as Valjean took Cosette to see her mother the next morning.

Fantine was still a thin waif lay upon the mattress; her skin was pale and her eyes dark. She was not, as Valjean had noted in his frequent visits, improving.

“Cosette? Is that you?”

“Mama?” Cosette seemed unwilling to get close; she clung to Javert’s hand.

“My child, my beautiful child.” She was smiling, and Valjean was pleased they had bought her a dress to wear. He tried to nudge the girl forwards, but she frowned and held tighter to the sentinel’s hand. 

Her distress caused the younger sentinel to step forwards. She took Cosette’s hand and looked at Fantine.

“Hello.”

“Who... Who are-” She began coughing, red splattering across her fingers as she curled in on herself. Cosette let go of both hands and wrapped her arms around Javert’s legs. Valjean felt Javert’s protective nature flare, but the man stood still, merely resting a hand on her head.

“I am Éponine.”

“Oh...” She said, weakly gasping from her coughing fit.

The little girl frowned now, looking unsure of what to do next. She turned and raised her eyes to Javert, who was not looking too happy at the attention of two children.

“This is the daughter of the innkeeper.” Valjean responded realising Javert was not going to say anything. “They are very close and did not wish to be separated.”

“They did look after my girl.” Her breathing was getting erratic; maybe he should go find a sister. “She was happy?”

He nodded. Her smile, however, did nothing to ease the guilt he felt. While Javert had been away, he had come here. He had discovered this woman used to be one of his factory workers; that she was fired for having a daughter out of wedlock and the belief that she had been selling her body even then to afford the child; that the day she had been turned out, he had been there... he could not remember her, or any event of a worker getting fired. He felt guilt.

He watched her now, fingers stretched out to the girl who hid behind the inspector’s legs. He could not tell her how the innkeeper had truly treated her. Finally, with one last look up at Javert, Cosette stepped forwards.

“Mama?”

“My girl... You are beautiful.” There were tears in Fantine’s eyes. Valjean felt almost bad for witnessing what should be a private moment.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy?”

Cosette smiled, and her whole face seemed to transform from a pale child who was not terribly attractive, to a beautiful shining girl.

“Yes, Mama. I am going to stay with the inspector now. I think he will be my father, I have always wanted one.”

“The inspector?” Her eyes rose to Javert for the first time.

“Yes, Mama, with Éponine. I think we will be staying with Monsieur l’Maire, because father only has a very small home.”

It seemed Cosette was getting braver, and her energy was filling Fantine with a light that Valjean had not yet seen.

“It sounds most delightful.” She said, a broad smile stretched across her skeletal, blood flecked face. Cosette nodded, and stepped back, grabbing Javert’s hand again. “Now, my girl, you must go and get some rest. Hopefully, I shall see you again tomorrow.”

Fantine leaned back against the pillow, her chest heaving with exhaustion, but a smile still upon her face. Javert turned and looked at Valjean.

“Would you like to step outside and get some air with the girls? I shall just say farewell.”

Javert nodded at this, and allowed Éponine to take his hand as well before leading them out.

“Are you well this evening, Fantine?” He could see her gasping still.

“Just tired, monsieur. Thank you for bringing my girl. Thank you.”

“I did nothing, ‘twas inspector Javert who went to Montfermeil.”

“Then he is an angel on Earth, surely.”

“He certainly is special.”

“Yes...” Her breath settled, and she allowed sleep to claim her.

______

“Will Mama get better?”

“I do not know.”

“What is wrong with her?”

“She has an illness.”

“What sort of illness?”

“I do not know. I am not a doctor.”

“No. You are an inspector.”

Cosette had brightened up considerably. She was skipping along the path, smiling happily while she questioned Javert. Valjean followed behind, carrying Éponine, who seemed to be filling with a mixture of jealousy, confusion and happiness. Valjean understood the mixture quite well, though he was unsure of if she wanted more of Javert’s attention, or Cosette’s.

“Javert?”

“Yes, Mo-... Yes, Jean?” He turned to look at him, while keeping an eye on his charge.

“I think we should get the girls a welcome gift. Also, a blanket each. I have a spare mattress they can sleep on, but I am unsure how long the linens have been in the cupboard.”

Javert nodded, a flutter of determination going through him, and they set off to the bustling market.

______

It was late in the evening, when the girls were in bed that Javert came to him, distress rippling through him.

“What is the matter?” Valjean stepped closer, and took his sentinel’s hands.

“I got a letter...” They had stopped by Javert’s home. It really was just one room, the bed taking up most of the space. There was a dresser crammed into the room as well. The place he stayed had a communal living room with a fire, where a metal bathing tub was set against a wall, and the woman who owned it cooked for her renters.

“What was in the letter?” He hoped it was nothing too distressing; his heart already heavy from viewing the place his inspector was living. He was glad they had gathered enough items for Javert to stay with him for a while.

“It was from the precinct in Arras.” He stepped closer to Valjean, his eyes large and pained.

“Oh?”

“Jean, they... I got a letter. It said that I am to go to Arras to identify a criminal they have caught.” 

“A criminal? Why do they need you for that?”

“They need someone who was a guard at Toulon.”

“Toulon?” This was getting odd, and his sentinel was getting more distressed.

“Jean... They say they have caught you. A man claiming to be called Champmathieu has been apprehended and a convict has claimed it is you. They need me to go to Arras and confirm this.”

“Javert... What will you do?”

“I do not know.” He scrubbed his hands into his face, and then kept them there, covering his eyes.

Valjean moved into his space, taking his hands and pulling them away. He took a deep breath, acknowledging the fear he wanted to dispel from his sentinel and leaned forwards, moving his arms to surround him.

Their lips touched softly. Javert gasped, jerking slightly, before relaxing into the embrace and pressing his lips back in a clumsy kiss.


	12. Chapter 12

It was pleasant, Valjean mused as he sat at his desk, it was pleasant having Javert in his home. It was even pleasant having those two odd little girls living there; Éponine, who seemed to expect Cosette to do everything for her, yet gave her anything she had spare, and anything she could find lying around spare; and Cosette, who quietly did as asked, who ate everything put before her as though it would be taken away if she did not get it straight down.

He tried to focus again on the papers before him. The downside of living with Javert was that he had something to say about everything he did, be it plans for the town, how he had treated a citizen or even how he acted around the house. The problem was telling if he was joking or not. The man had a sharp wit, but he said things with such a straight face, Valjean was uncertain if he was supposed to laugh or not.

Javert did not seem comfortable with the girls either. Cosette called him Father, as Papa had been vehemently refused. She was happiest following him about and helping him in his tasks. Éponine liked to play outside on the streets. Valjean wondered which of her senses were increased. Not her sight, he could tell that from the way she missed things that even he could see. 

He quietly signed his name, Madeleine, before standing. He had been here too long already. It was late. He donned his coat and headed home.

______

Valjean entered his home to feeling of anger. He hurried inside, wondering who was emitting this.

Javert was sat, his hand raised. Éponine was bent over his knee, her face bright red as she screamed in rage. The guide looked over the two of them, before quietly leaving the room. As he passed the girls’ room, he could see Cosette sat on the floor.

“Cosette? Child?”

“Monsieur.” She whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

“What are you doing on the floor?” she raised her eyes to look at him.

“I got Éponine in trouble.” She had guilt rolling off her.

“What do you mean?”

“She told me to clean up the mess she made on the floor.” She pointed, and Valjean recognised the remains of a vase he had been gifted a few weeks ago. “I remembered Father said we clean up our own messes, though. Or, if we need help, we ask. She told me to do to do it alone, and I said no...”

“As you should. Éponine just needs help learning how to do things by herself.”

He wrapped his arms around the little girl. He guessed that being told no was not something Éponine was used to. She probably had over reacted to it. There was silence in the other room now. He stood, sat Cosette on the bed and went through.

Éponine was stood in a corner, facing the wall. Javert was stood in the centre of the room, a hand over his face as guilt and disappointment warred in him.

After a moment, Javert moved over to him, taking his arm and leading him into the furthest room from the child, a small study that he did not really use. 

“I am not sure I am best for looking after them. What if I am doing this wrong?”

“What? No! What? Doing what wrong?” The question threw him. After all, his sentinel seemed to be doing well.

“I keep forgetting that Éponine has never known anything different to the way she treats Cosette. I try to get her to see things from her point of view, but it is not working...”

“No. You are doing well. It has only been a week, Javert. Give it time.”

Javert shivered, hands grasping his arms. It was odd to see the inspector insecure. Valjean leaned forward slowly, his arms slipping around the other’s body; one hand resting on his hip, the other on his shoulder blade.

Javert relaxed fractionally, uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his side. He pressed his forehead into Valjean’s neck, but did not speak.

“You are doing well with the girls. You can clearly discipline as well as reward, and I trust you to know when to do what. You have always been fair. Éponine just needs to learn how to be a regular child, that she does not have a servant and that she has jobs to do about this home as well.”

“Thank you.” He shifted his arms to lie around Valjean’s waist. “Is Cosette feeling well?”

“Yes. She was concerned it was her fault Éponine was in trouble, but I think I sufficiently explain otherwise.”

“They both have lessons to learn. This one needs to understand freedom.”

They separated and went to check on the girls. Cosette was sat with the doll she had picked out, Catherine, combing her hair down her back, while humming a tune.

“Have they eaten?” He asked softly, watching the child from the doorway.

“Yes. I fed the two several hours ago.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” The man looked at him, almost shyly. “I was waiting for you.”

“Then we shall dine together.” He reached out and grasped his hand.

______

It was Valjean who washed the girls, and put them to bed, kneeling by the bed with them for prayers (having to teach Cosette how to pray!) and tucking them in with a kiss to their heads.

Éponine had been very agreeable since she had been released from her punishment, as though once she had gotten over the anger of being punished, she had been quite shocked that any rules applied to her.

He very much enjoyed the routine of putting them down, it made him feel a part of their lives.

As they had eaten their meals, Javert had shared his concerns over the trial in Arras. If they simply asked him to identify Valjean, and he was unable to then there would be little trouble.

However, if they asked any further questions, there could be a problem. Javert could not lie. He was terrible at it. He looked pained and tended to fidget. He could not even hide that he was holding something back.

Valjean worried that he would need to run if there were problems. He worried if Javert would have to remain if he left, and how he would take the children with him.

He prayed quietly, as Javert washed their bowls in a small pot of water, that God would aid him in his need; that God would take this burden and keep their little family safe and together. The inspector would leave at the end of the week. That was not much time.

As they retired, they stopped to say their prayers together. The two of them knelt by Valjean’s bed, the silver candlesticks gifted to him lit upon the table on the other side of the room. He tried to tune out Javert’s feelings of guilt and of concern. He tried to focus on his own worries, but he felt they were probably very similar.

He crossed himself, and sat back on his heels, waiting for Javert to finish. The man’s face was beautiful by candle light; it cast a glow to him that was exquisite. His lashes seemed long and dark against his skin, his lips pinker than any rare flower. His arms were muscled and his body strong. He was desirable.

Javert shifted slightly and opened his eyes. They were softer than they had ever been.

His sentinel turned, setting his hands on Valjean’s shoulders and leaning forwards enough to press their lips together. Valjean shifted, spreading his knees to support his weight better as his hands reached out to hold Javert’s hips.

He tilted his head up to accept the man’s kisses. He thrust his tongue into Javert’s mouth, and the man moaned lightly and changed his grip to wrap his arms around his guide’s shoulders.

His lips were soft and his mouth, warm. The gentle glide of his tongue sent a burning through the mayor that was stronger than he had imagined, on his own deep in the night. He leaned forward and pressed Javert back into the blankets that covered his bed.

The awkward wriggling that occurred as Javert moved himself more properly onto the bed only served to enflame Valjean further. He groaned loudly and pressed his hips down.

“Ah! ... Girls, hush... Oh!” Javert gasped out, his own hips moving in time with Valjean’s. “Please...”

Valjean sat up, and removed his cravat, then his braces. He looked down at the ravaged mess that Javert was already and quickly tugged off his shirt, then his boots. He lay back down again, and the rub of Javert’s shirt against his bare skin made him moan as he tasted the other’s mouth again.

Javert’s hands clung to his back, his fingers scraping across the scarred skin. His leg wrapped around Valjean’s hip, and the rough cloth gave a burn that was dizzying. 

“Jean,” breathed Javert, “Jean, girls? .... Ohhh... Wait...” 

“Sleeping.” He grunted, grinding his hips down into Javert’s arousal.

“Please...” He shifted his hands to Valjean’s shoulders, “Not yet. Please...”

Valjean’s moaned softly, pressing his hips down once more, before moving back. His body burned, and he struggled to keep control of it.

“I’m sorry...” Below him, Javert was still gasping, but his eyes were shut. “I have not... Before... I haven’t...”

“I understand.” The thought helped cool Valjean’s body. He stood and went to his cupboard to remove his nightshirt.

Javert remained where he was, body splayed on his mattress. The image would be in Valjean’s mind for a long time; the flushed skin, his spread legs, his bruised lips and heady gaze. The cool air further aided him in focussing his mind, and he pulled on his night clothes before going over to his sentinel.

“Stay the night with me?”

“Yes.” He sat up, and looked Valjean in the eyes. “Let me change though.”

“Yes. Blow the candles out when you come back in?”

Javert nodded, and left to change in his room.


	13. Chapter 13

He was in a familiar forest, one he often visited. The large grizzly bear lay beside him, seeming to breathe a calming atmosphere. It had been months since he had dreamt of this place; since before he had been elected mayor.

It was dark, though. Above him the inky sky was filled with little dots; thousands of them, far more than he could see in the town. He skimmed his eyes across the vastness, wishing he could remember his sisters talk about constellations, and their meanings.

He heard an unusual rustling and sat up. How odd... they had never been bothered by any other being here before. He watched as a large fox made its way out of the undergrowth... No, not a fox. It was a wolf. She had the same red coat as a fox though. Behind her emerged Javert. He was dressed in a simple white shirt with black slacks and braces. His feet were bare, but he did not seem bothered by it.

“Javert?” he whispered. He had never imagined another person here...

“Valjean? How are you here?” Javert was frowning slightly, but the wolf at his side butted her head against him. “What?”

The wolf growled quietly, and it was followed by Javert scoffing, “Don’t be ridiculous, Alma. You should know better.”

He glanced at the bear, who seemed quite disinterested and had curled up.

“I... I often come here...” His bear seemed to give him a frown, so he corrected himself, “I used to at least. It was been some time since I last visited. Do you...?”

“Frequently.” Javert moved over to him and sat down at his side. The wolf curled up next to his bear. 

“I... suppose introductions are in order? Luc Javert, and this is my spirit guide; Alma.” 

Javert held out a large hand, and Valjean just stared blankly at it for a moment.

“You have... a Christian name?”

“Well, of course I do.”

Valjean simply grasped Javert’s hand, trying to get his head around the idea.

“Jean Valjean...”

“And this is?” Javert was pointing at the bear? The man was exuding a certain amount of curiosity, but Valjean was feeling that also.

“A bear?”

“What is his name?” This was definitely an odd conversation. What was Javert trying to say?

“Should he have one?”

“Well, he is your spirit guide. I would say he should...”

“What is a spirit guide?”

Javert raised an eyebrow at that. Valjean felt like an idiot child who answered wrongly to a teacher. His sentinel simply turned slightly and the wolf came over and settled half in his lap.

“Alma is my spirit guide. She likes to think she can tell me what to do, but she is an aid from... God, if you like, to help me.”

“She is lovely.”

“Yes.”

He frowned as he pondered this. A spirit guide? The bear _had_ always been there. He had shown some disapproval at the theft, and his various escape attempts. He had always been a comfort to find in his dreams, especially when locked up in Toulon.

“You think the bear...”

“This is not a dream. That is, this is not a wild and uncontrolled dream. You must have noticed there is no one else here.”

“Until you and Alma, yes.”

“That is...” Javert looked momentarily uncomfortable, some embarrassment flared through him. “That is because we have bonded. Our spirits- Our souls, even, will be drawn to one another.”

“Oh... What happens if you bond to someone else?”

“I can’t. I have tried to get close enough to people to manage it, but I have not felt a connection with anyone but you. It was one of the reasons I sent out here. I have problems with zoning and focussing because I do not have a guide.”

“I’m sorry.” He pressed Javert’s arm. He did not like the idea of Javert bonding with anyone else, but he did not like to hear his sentinel had been pushed away by his superiors.

“Yes, I am sure you are.” _That_ was not sincere. He wanted Javert to drop the sarcasm. He shuffled over to the man, on the other side to the wolf (as he was not certain if it was acceptable to touch someone’s spirit guide,) and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I do not want to hear you have been hurt.” The wolf moved back over to the bear, pushing at him with her nose until he lay on his back. Alma spread herself out on top of him.

Valjean stayed where he was, but Javert leaned into him.

“There was no pain.”

“Physical pain is not the only kind. Don’t be obtuse.”

Javert looked at him for a long moment, before imitated his wolf and pushing Valjean down into the grass. The mayor gazed up at the face framed with stars and let a smile play across his lips. It was a dazzling sight.

His sentinel lay down beside him, then boldly reached out to hold his hand and pull it onto his stomach, still in his grasp.

“The stars are quite beautiful. You cannot see them so well in town.”

“No. The lights get in the way. If you want to see them in town you shall have to issue a rule for all lanterns to be extinguished at a certain time.”

Valjean laughed at the idea. “You would have to enforce it!”

“How would I do that if I cannot see where I am going?”

“Very carefully.” 

He was openly chuckling, trying to imagine this fully.

“My mother taught me the stars.” Javert’s voice was soft, a longing moving through him. Valjean squeezed his hand lightly, but did not speak. “She was fond of them, so when she was not out selling fortunes or...” He glanced at Valjean, “out whoring herself, we spent time looking at them.”

Valjean pulled their joined hands off Javert’s stomach and up to his lips to press a kiss there. He did not speak yet; Javert knew he did not approve of such phrases, but he was unsure of whether or not to correct him while he spoke of his own mother.

“My sister liked the stars.” He said eventually. “I think she knew their names, but she did not teach them to me regardless. There was not time with seven children.”

“Would you like to know them? I can remember them...”

“Yes...” He whispered, feeling warmth flood him. 

“That bright star there, see it? ... That is Polaris. She is the North Star.... Would you like the story?”

“Yes.” He whispered again. Javert rolled over and rested his head on his arms, gazing at Valjean. The guide reached out and ran his fingers over a star-lit cheek.

“Originally, she was a beautiful Greek woman. The daughter of one of their gods... I forget which, the archer; for she too was a master archer. She was a guide, with a strong sense of direction, and when her mother died she decided to explore the world.” 

Javert shifted closer, pressed up against Valjean’s side. The guide waited to hear the story, this narrator had a gentle and melodic voice. 

“She hunted just what she needed, and used the entire animal in some way, and she prayed every often. However, she stopped praying to her father, as she always had and started praying to the moon goddess, her aunt. Oh! Her father was the sun god. Hmm... Her father went to see his sister to figure out why she had changed.”

“Was her father too strict?” 

“Hush,” chuckled Javert, and he moved again, curling across his chest. “Her aunt did not know why, just that she prayed for freedom. Her father went down and disguised himself to try find out what had happened. He found that in autumn- wait, no. That’s a different story. He found that she was betrothed to a drunkard and rejected him.”

“How did she get engaged to an unsuitable man if her father was a sun god?” 

“Her father was not there... I guess her mother had not seen the man he was when she agreed to the marriage. Anyway, the drunkard had locked her away for rejecting him. By the time her father found her she was dead, killed in a drunken rage. Her aunt took her soul from Hades, of the underworld, and put her in the sky to guide others.”

“That is a horrible story...”

“I have always liked it. My father was never there, and my mother was not exactly attentive. The free time she had... She was often too tired to do more than tell me stories.”

“So you had someone watching out for you?”

“Yes... A guide. My mother did not really understand what I am, but we moved between jails and gypsy camps. There were plenty of people to explain things to me.”

“That... sounds oddly lonely.” He wrapped his arms around Javert, still curled on top of him.

“No. I’ve had two constants. Alma, my spirit guide; and Polaris. She is a guide, she shows people north and aids navigation, yet she is a sentinel. Her eyes must be so strong to watch over us from so far away.”

“Yes.” Valjean replied, unsure of what else to say. Javert had introduced that as a story, not a past occurrence. Surely he didn’t think anyone but God watched over them? He knew the man believed in God...

Watching as a sentinel though, rather than as a god. There was only one God a person could have, and He demanded they worship no other... Was believing a sentinel watched over your life acceptable to God? 

He hoped so. Javert had so few friends; he could not bear to take even such a distant one away...


	14. Chapter 14

Javert had left the previous morning to head for Arras. He had not been looking forward to it, and though Valjean told him not to worry, he had been quite irritable.

Valjean, however, had been left behind with the two girls. The girls were with Madame Nève during the day and he would pick them up on an evening after he had finished. She had agreed to do this for 4 days of the week, as she ran a sort of crèche for those parents who needed to work to afford rent, and could not leave their children so unattended.

It was not that he had any objection to them playing in the streets as such; he knew the police looked after the area, and he himself as a child had often played outside with his sister when their parents were working. He was not yet sure how completely he trusted Éponine though, and he did not want her to get Cosette into trouble.

Since Javert had left, Cosette had come out of her shell. She had informed him as he left her with Madame Nève that morning that she would be more like her father and learn how to talk to people correctly. She certainly seemed to be making an effort. Éponine was not quiet either, she happily dragged Cosette around in whatever game she was playing, but she had learnt to ask the girl if she would do something first, rather than demanding.

Valjean was waiting to see if this would hold up now Javert was no longer here, but he had a feeling it would not. It was early in the afternoon, just a few hours until he had to go pick the girls up... He tried to imagine what the girls were doing... perhaps playing outside, in the orchard attached to Madame Nève’s home, perhaps playing with their dolls, or listening to someone read a story.

He was not sure if Madame Nève was teaching them to read and write. She had told him that she was not a teacher, but if the girls wanted to learn... he hoped they would. He would ask Javert about it when he returned.

Valjean turned his attention back to the papers before him, reading through the reports he had been given. It would just be a few hours, and then he could see them. The separation from his sentinel was already aching; maybe the girls could ease that.

_

Valjean sat at the dinner table, listening to the girls describe their day. Éponine seemed to be determined to impress him, telling of how she had climbed to the very top of the tallest tree in the orchard because they were keeping a look out for pirates. Cosette had added that they would not be in a boat, but on foot as the sea was far away. Both girls had claimed to have seen one.

It had made him chuckle. He had felt warm and content while he sat and listened to them. It would have been nearing perfection, if only Javert had been at his side. The policeman had predicted he would return home the day after tomorrow. It could not come soon enough.

“Monsieur, we are the best pirate watchers in France!”

“Are you really, Éponine? This is fantastic news. I shall have to tell Javert when he returns.”

“Father will be pleased. Pirates are law breakers. We shall find them, and then he can arrest them.”

“Exactly, dear sister. We shall follow the foul smell they leave behind. Mama showed me what pirates looked like when they came to our inn. They smelt very strongly of the sea, I think I can follow them and then Monsieur Javert-”

“Father.” Cosette correctly the girl quietly.

“And then _Father_ will be able to arrest them.”

“Ah, but do all who smell of the sea follow the pirate’s trade?” He asked softly not wanting the girls to learn prejudice against someone before they knew what that person was like.

“Do you not think so, Monsieur?” Éponine frowned at him, her little features pulled together.

“I am afraid not, no. Javert will not be able to put someone before the courts because of their smell.”

“Oh...” The dark haired girl settled back down to the bench, leaned against the table and clearly began to think hard about this.

“When is Father going to return?” Cosette’s soft little voice spoke up.

“Soon, child. Not tomorrow, but the day after.”

“Where is he?”

“I told you, he is talking to the courts to help decide a man’s punishment.”

“I miss him.”

“As do I. Now, we shall say our after meal prayers and you can go tidy up.”

-

It was early in the morning that Valjean heard a disturbance downstairs. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Were the girls up already? The sun was barely peeking above the horizon.

He stood up, running a hand through his hair and opened his door. “Cosette? Éponine?” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to wake whoever was still in bed... If either were still in bed.

“Jean?” The voice that answered was not one he expected to hear. He hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. Javert was sat by the table; his head in his hands and his greatcoat in a heap on the floor.

“Javert? My... What is the matter? Are you hurt?”

“No... No. Jean. I am not hurt.” But when he lifted his head there were tears in his eyes. “Jean, I’ve caused such a bother. I am so sorry. So sorry...”

“Come here.” He pulled his sentinel up and wrapped his arms around the man. “What do you mean?”

“I have done you wrong. I have wronged the courts... I should not have returned, but you... and the girls, I could not...”

“Javert, please.” He took the man’s face in his hands and kissed him gently. He pressed their lips together, shut his eyes and rubbed his back, trying to calm the man. Javert accepted his kisses, but did not return them. He stopped talking, rambling, but his tears kept falling.

“What is the matter?”

“I could not lie. I tried, my guide, I really did...” Javert rubbed his sleeve across his face, and visibly pulled himself together. “Jean, I told them that Champmathieu was not you, but they asked how I was certain. There were other convicts and they had even found some guards to say the resemblance to uncanny.”

“What did you say?” He pulled Javert through to the chairs by the unlit fire and sat him down.

“I said... You see, he truly does resemble you. I was quite shocked at first. It would have been so easy, and he has done wrong... but he will be out in a month at the most. I said he was not you.”

The man was trembling slightly, his distress thick in the air. The guide tried to touch his sentinel, but Javert pulled his hand away, not wishing for comfort before he finished his story.

“As I said, they asked me how I knew. I said I knew you well; I even tried to explain the idea of a bond and how it linked us. I... This probably made it worse. They outright asked me if I knew where you were.”

Javert was so upset. Valjean longed to hold him close, to pet away this fear, but he knew now he needed to hear what had happened.

“I tried to lie, but I do not have a talent for it. I’m afraid when they began asking me where you were, naming towns... When they reached this town, I could not make myself lie. They will be coming here. And I fear they will be quite curious about this connection we have...”

“My love...” Now he pulled Javert out of the chair and to the floor, into his lap. “How did you get away?”

“I ran... Like a coward... But, I had to tell you.” 

Valjean began pressing kisses to Javert’s face, whispering reassurances. He felt his sentinel calm, though the fear did not leave.

“We need to leave.”

“Yes, Javert. I fear we do. You wake the girls and I shall pack some things.”


	15. Chapter 15

They left the town quietly, and without fuss. Valjean stopped at his office to leave some instructions, not wanting the hard work he had put into the town to disappear. The girls had been quiet, Cosette clinging to Valjean’s hand and Éponine had been so slow Javert had picked her up.

They managed to find a man willing to take them out of the town in his carriage for more than Javert would have liked however without much time they had paid him. Valjean had kept this thoughts calm, projecting it to stop the girls noticing something was wrong. Javert was tense; he was frowning and could not look anyone in the eye. The guide kept a hand on his leg, not wanting to let go.

“Where do you think we should go?” He wondered if Javert had any ideas.

“Sort of, but I’m not sure if it is a good idea. How about you?”

“Paris? There are a few places we can hide.”

“Perhaps. But, we would need to get into there to start with, without papers. Then, we would need to find somewhere I won’t be recognised. I may have moved a few years ago, but I was there for some time.”

“Ah... You are rather memorable.” He took Javert’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Where did you think of going?”

“I... am not sure if we will be accepted there, but I know where my mother is. We could join one of the camps.”

“Oh. Should we try?”

“I don’t know.” Javert raised his eyes, worry rolling off him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You did nothing wrong.”

He kissed his sentinel’s hand again. Javert sighed, and slumped against Valjean; in his lap, Cosette shifted in her sleep and he pressed a hand to her head. Éponine was also sleeping, but she had insisted on sitting on the bench herself and had slumped into Valjean.

“How far are we going in this?” Javert’s voice was soft and he remained where he was.

“For another hour or so, then we can change. What direction are we going in?”

“East. But we can change direction later.”

“Trying to through them off the scent?” He chuckled softly, pressing his weight slightly into Javert.

“Of course.”

-

They stopped in a small town, it was quiet, and they needed something to eat. They had acquired 2 horses after leaving the carriage and each man had ridden with a child. 

It was early afternoon when they stopped for food, the sun was shining and Valjean was feeling more relaxed. The girls were both awake and chattering away, their smiles indicating they had not noticed that they were running.

They stopped at a small inn for their meal, an enjoyable experience of a broth with actual beef in it and some bread and butter. Cosette played quietly with both her doll and Éponine’s, one appearing to be arresting the other; she had dropped her voice and had given one of the dolls a number... He felt a little curious as to how she knew so much about prisons, that the convicts got numbered... Was that Javert, or the Thénardiers?

Éponine was even quieter, she was sat watching the innkeeper and his wife as they mingled amongst the patrons. Valjean could feel a misery coming from her, and he couldn’t help feeling some guilt at this; it had not even occurred to him that she would miss her parents. The way Javert had described them, he had not thought of them as lovable, but a child often loves their parent regardless of how they are treated.

“Éponine? Are you alright, child?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “But... I will never see them again, will I?”

“No. Probably not.” 

“I have a Father and a Papa now then? Instead of a Mama and a Papa?”

“You want... me to be your Papa?”

“Is that acceptable? Mama always told Cosette a person should have 2 parents...” Of course she told a lonely little girl with just a mother that.

“A person does not need 2 parents, what if one died? Or if, like Cosette’s, one left?”

“Then... they would have one parent.”

“Exactly. But, Javert and I shall be parents to you, if you like.”

The girl looked shyly at the table, a little smile forming on her lips. “Yes, please.”

Valjean grinned happily, looking up to catch Javert’s eyes. Javert was smiling and it lit his whole face, his eyes curling up in the corners, the lines that were starting to form there only enhancing the look.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Éponine?”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Javert’s-”

“Father’s.”

“Thank you, Cosette. We are going to see Father’s mother.”

The two girls stared at Javert in wonder, and Valjean could sympathise with how they felt; the idea that someone gave birth to Javert, that he was once a little baby cuddled in someone’s arms seemed quite extraordinary.

“Father? What is she like?” Cosette’s large blue eyes stared into Javert’s blue ones.

“She’s a little... odd. However, she is my mother, and she loves me.”

“How could she not?” Valjean was feeling warm and happy. He wanted to kiss the man, but it could wait.

“Yes... Well, she did most of the time. Unfortunately, she sometimes thought I was a fae child and as such did not treat me exactly... normally...”

“What?”

“I think being able to hear so many things, that I could see and smell so much... I think that and prison did not mix well. She got... confused.”

“My love...” How terrible, his own mother? But Javert scowled at him.

“Oh, stop fussing. She was fine most of the time.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“There are... certain things you will need to know; rules you will need to obey. If you are to enter the camp.”

“I’m listening. Cosette? Éponine? Pay attention.” The girls looked up from what they were doing.

“Jean, you cannot touch a woman’s skirt while you are there, not even a dolls. They are potentially unclean.”

“What? Well... I’ll be careful then.”

“Um... None of you should touch the animals. Again, unclean.” All three nodded.

“What else?” Sighed Javert. “I am sorry; it is many years since I lived with them. We should be accepted, because you are my pack and therefore are family. Family is important. Oh, do not tell anyone your name. Do not tell anyone my name, not the full one at least. To avoid curses.”

“Yes. Will we be considered unclean? I am pretty sure sometime in my many years I have touched a woman’s skirt...”

“I... guess if we are staying we will have to face a tribunal, but we may think of somewhere else to go. I’m sorry... I feel it is necessary to stop there. They know so much more about sentinels and guides than I do.”

“Don’t worry. It’s fine, my love. It is fine.”


	16. Chapter 16

The camp was nothing like Valjean had been expecting. Ever since he had listened to God calling to him through the Bishop, he tried not to discriminate against anyone; he tried to remember that everyone had a soul, and how or where you were born did not change the value of your soul. 

He tried to hold to this in all things, and he hoped that for the most part he succeeded. He realised, as he walked through the sedate camp, that he had not been so successful. Whenever he saw gypsies, they had always seemed so loud, so... rough; their circuses had seemed almost cruel to the point he was uncomfortable. 

Now, he could see a group of men fixing a table and smoking, a woman sat in a chair, sewing cloth while a bunch of children ran around happily laughing. Javert walked straight through all of these, keeping a grip on Cosette’s hand as she clung to him, shy of so many new people.

“Garçon Javert! How are you?” An older man with thinning black hair and an easy smile walked over to them.

“Père Bavol. I am well.” Javert grasped the man’s foreman, not quite managing to smile but keeping a polite face on nonetheless.

“Are these little angels yours?”

“Yes.” He did not offer their names, Valjean noticed. 

“And this is?”

“Madeleine.” Not his real name... “He is my guide.”

“Your... Guide?” The man’s face split from the easy smile into a full beam. “You have found your guide? This is wonderful, Garçon!”

“It makes things... clearer. I can think when he is here.”

Javert glanced back at Valjean for a moment, unable to keep the smile from his face. The guide stepped forward and pressed his arm, wanting to be closer but unsure as to how close was acceptable. 

Javert shifted to grasp his hand, the two girls now sat on the grass playing quietly. Valjean squeezed those fingers. He felt warm and happy. He felt complete. It was something he had felt occasionally in other people, but he had never thought he would feel it for himself.

The man was smiling at them. “Then, you are family, and you shall join us for a meal. Now, go see your mother and I shall see tell the women.” 

He turned and walked away. Javert called softly to the girls, and he led his family pack over to a tent with a woman sat outside. She wore bright yellow and orange clothing, a red headscarf and small smile as she stitched a tear in what looked like a shirt.

“Maman?”

“Garçon, I had wondered when you would return. It had been many moons.”

“Yes. Nearly two years since I found the time. I am sorry.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek and smiled.

“My boy.” She smiled a gentle smile that was so familiar.

“Who are these?” Behind her chair sat two young boys, their muddy faces downcast and serious. 

“They are here until I decide they are sufficiently punished and are able to give an honest apology to the man they have wronged.” Javert nodded, and his eyes looked around the area.

“Justice must be served.” The phrase was not an unexpected in its meaning, but the voice was soft and high, rather than the lower tones of his sentinel. Cosette was looking at the woman with a serious face.

“Yes, little one.” Javert smiled at her as Madame Javert leaned forward to look at the girls.

“Another fae child, come down from the mountains?”

“Maman, I am not a fae child, remember? This is Cosette, and here is Éponine. They are my and Jean’s children.”

“Jean? Who is this?” Valjean stepped forward, nerves suddenly flooding him. Would the woman like him? This was Javert’s _mother!_

“Here. He is my... partner. I beg you be accepting of this.”

“Family?”

“Yes.” Valjean could feel his sentinel’s nerves too.

“What does bandolier Bavol say?”

“That they are welcome for dinner because they are family.” She reached out a hand and placed it on Javert’s jaw.

“Then, that is that garçon. Do not worry on it.”

“Yes, Maman.”

“Now, let me talk to one of your chavi, then the other.” Éponine stepped forward first, in front of Cosette who was hiding behind Javert’s leg.

“Chavi?” asked Valjean, having not heard the word before.

“Girl.” His sentinel replied. “Excuse me a moment.”

Javert turned and walked off in the direction they had come, approaching one of the men. Valjean smiled, it seemed like a large family. Cosette held his hand while Éponine quietly spoke to Javert’s mother. He did not try to listen in, trusting his empathy to tell him if the girl got distressed.

“Hello.” A soft voice spoke up. Valjean turned to see a young boy standing before them.

“Hello, child.” He replied, the boy gave him a quick smile, but focussed his attention on Cosette.

“You came here with Madame Javert’s garçon, didn’t you?” Valjean said nothing, waiting for Cosette to speak up on her own. The boy shifted slightly, but waited also.

“Yes.” She said eventually, simply.

“Are you his daughter?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled widely, it was rather sweet, even with one of his front teeth missing. 

“Ange Javert. Lovely to meet you.” Javert... It was odd to hear Cosette referred to as that. “Is that your sister? Is she as lovely as you?”

“She is my sister,” Cosette frowned for a moment though, “I do not always like her.”

The boy just laughed. “That is fine. I do not always like my sisters. I do always love them though. We have to remember that, or we will get in trouble and Madame Javert will punish us.”

“Does she always?”

“Yes. It is supposed to be bandolier Bavol who does so, but he trusts Madame Javert. She is fair. We only go to him if we are in great trouble.”

“Have you ever...”

“Thankfully not. Madame Javert is calling you over. Is she your grandmère?”

“I... guess so. Goodbye.”

“Bye...” The boy smiled again as Cosette walked over to the woman. Valjean grinned as she spoke out as soon as she reached her.

“Can I call you Grandmère, if you are Father’s Maman?” The woman smiled beautifully, a sudden and unexpected light. It was the same as Javert’s, and Valjean felt his heart flutter with a warmth he did not expect. He wished his love would smile like that more often.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Éponine?”

“Are we really allowed to call her Grandmère?”

“Yes, if she has said so.”

“Will Father mind?”

“I suspect he will be quite happy.” 

“Hello.” The boy was back again. Valjean sighed, but permitted it. Curiosity was natural. Éponine stepped closer to him though, looking shyly at the boy.

“You are Javert’s other daughter, yes?”

“I... suppose.” She still hadn’t completely rejected her own parents. Every reminder of them sent a stab of longing through her. Valjean rested a hand on her head, wanting to offer comfort without interrupting. The boy stood frowning for a moment, his eyes drifting from Javert, to Cosette; from Valjean to Éponine. Suddenly, he gasped and grinned at them.

“Oh, you have a whole family pack. I have worked it out.”

“What do you mean?” Éponine frowned, curiosity and protectiveness curling through her.

“No, offense, Mademoiselle Javert. But your Father is a tiger yes? Strong, devoted, timely. Everyone here agrees so.”

“Yes, that does sound like Father.”

“You are a seal, loving and protective, with some longing – for what I do not know but I saw it. Your Papa is a beaver, a builder.”

“That... is interesting.” Éponine had now stepped forwards, now looking at him fully. “What about C - my sister?” She seemed to remember Javert’s warning against first names.

“Umm... She seems balanced, and graceful. In touch with the night, maybe?”

“That is a swan, my boy.” Bandolier Bavol walked over to them, Javert a step behind him. “It is moon magick you can sense in her. My son here has quite an ability to see an inner animal. Not the same as a spirit guide,” He stated at Valjean’s confused look, “not quite so literal, but an animal you share traits with.”

Valjean smiled at him as he nodded; Éponine walked over to her father, holding out her arms to be picked up.

“Monsieur Madeleine, I am most pleased to meet you. Javert has spoken to me about your... problem. For now, you may travel with us, so long as you keep the rules.”

“Thank you. I will learn and follow them.”

“Are we staying with Grandmère then?” Asked Cosette, her blue eyes staring into the man’s face.

“Yes, if your Father and Monsieur wish it.”

“He is my Papa, not my monsieur.” She correctly, and Valjean stared. Papa? To both of them? His heart was light, so light. He had a family and a home.

“My apologies. You shall stay here, and perhaps you can be accepted into our tribe and undergo an initiation ceremony.”

“Thank you.” There were no other words.

“You must understand, you may not be so welcome in society, but you will be loved here. We will look after you.” He smiled at them, and straightened his back, turning to look at the boys behind Madame Javert. “Boys, go apologise, and get back to your work. Apologise to Madame Javert for burdening her as well.”

The boys stood, apologised stiffly to the woman and walked away, humiliation burning through them, though humility and a determination flowed through them as well, hopefully one to do better.

“Girls? Would you like to hear a story? My fae boy used to love my stories...” The girls hurried over and sat down in front of her, eagerness and happiness pouring from them. Valjean watched them for a moment, before Javert touched his arm, and pulled him over behind a tent.

“We will have our own tent. They will teach Éponine how to be a sentinel, and if Cosette does have moon magick, they will help her to learn and understand that as well.”

Valjean nodded, and his sentinel leaned in to kiss him. Valjean wrapped a hand around the man’s neck and held him there, parting his lips to taste the other. Javert wrapped his arms around the ex-convict’s shoulders and curled into him. The kiss was warm and wet, it was more wonderful than it had been before, and they were no longer running.

Javert pulled back slightly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes heavy. He pressed another chaste kiss to his love’s lips before pulling back completely.

“Let’s go see the girls.”

They were home.


	17. Chapter 17

It was about a month in that Javert asked if they could complete their bond. The two men had been living in the camp with the girls, enjoying the increasing sunlight as spring turned over into summer and learning much.

Éponine and Cosette had been taking lessons with some of the women. Cosette was slowly learning to write; it was a sad fact that she did not even know her letters. It was even sadder, perhaps, that Éponine did not either. She could recognise certain words; these had seemed almost random until Valjean had realised that these words would be things labelled in that inn. ‘Glasses’, ‘Bread’, ‘Francs’ and various other words.

Éponine and Javert spent much time with the alpha sentinel for the camp. There were only three sentinels apart from Valjean’s two, but there seemed to be a hierarchy amongst them. He did not mind too much though, they did not bother Cosette at all or Éponine outside of their sessions. He had seen the guides, but not met them. He was told they were not allowed to touch the guides if he ever did; something to do with the possessiveness and protective nature of their sentinels.

Javert seemed rather interested in certain things they said, though and it seemed as though this interest was returned. Apparently the bonding of their spirit animals was unexpected. Nicolæ was the more scholarly of the pack, taking a great deal of interest in the differences between their experiences and what he had documented as regular experiences. 

Nicolæ often came by after dinner to the tents that had been erected for the family pack by Madame Javert’s. He had been quite intrigued by the idea they had formed a surface bond when Javert was just into his twenties, and yet they had never consummated it into a full bond.

Apparently, it took many months after the full bond was formed for them to be able share dreams, that they had shared a dream, their spirit animals had met and had comfortably settled down together had been a surprise to the man. He told them that it was perfectly possible for a sentinel and guide to have a fully functioning platonic relationship too, that they could continue as they had been and not take the next step in increasing their bond.

The only downside of getting to know Nicolæ better was that he had taken it upon himself to encourage Valjean to complete their bond. He had developed a habit of coming by while Javert was taking the girls to their lessons in the morning to insist they complete it. Valjean could understand how curious the man was to see the extent of their abilities once they were there, but he had started telling Valjean _how_ to complete the bond. 

The ex-convict was now far better clued in than ever as to what type of oil to use, how to go about opening Javert’s body up, what to aim for, how to take care of his lover after... He could admit it was useful information that he had attempted (and to a certain extent succeeded) to avoid while in Toulon. 

The man had no embarrassment coming from him, as far as Valjean could tell, at sharing such information... It was quite possible Valjean was drowning in his own embarrassment though. 

Nicolæ had also been interested to learn that Javert allowed Valjean to wander about and touch whom he pleased. He warned Valjean though, that he may not be able to share contact with others so easily once they bonded fully. He stated their pack should be fine; Cosette and Éponine would not be viewed as a threat, nor would his mother, but they would have to be careful about any others. Javert may not even realise someone could be a problem until he was separating them from his guide.

The day they had decided to test their limits had been both fascinating and worrying. Once the girls had gone to their classes, Javert had led his guide out into the empty paddock beside their camp. Both Nicolæ and the alpha sentinel had been there. 

Valjean had gone first, watching silently as he was told to recognise the emotions of a man stood first in the paddock, then in the camp, then into the town. They had been startled at his ability to follow these feelings so clearly. He had then shown them how he could influence a person’s emotions; not to change them, but to enhance certain feelings that were there, or to weaken them. He was capable of doing so at the same distances, but they did not try any further for fear of influences the wrong person’s emotions and drawing unwanted attention to themselves.

The test of Javert’s senses was something many people wanted to know. Valjean was informed they had tested him when he was a child, and his range had been most impressive. He had been tested again when he visited after finding his guide and having him leave again. His sense had been dulled dramatically and he had experienced too many zones to fully complete the test. Valjean had felt a stab of guilt at the realisation this was after he had been released. When Javert told him to settle, that it was not his fault; when he realised he could feel no accusations or anger directed at him he had felt even worse. 

They had tested Javert’s hearing, which Valjean always believed was his strongest sense. It was truly impressive that his sentinel could hear the animals below the ground, the flows of rivers many miles away, conversations being spoken by people Valjean could not even see...

His eyes were awe worthy as well. He could see a blackbird in a tree regurgitating its meal for its young in the distance, where Valjean struggled to see a bird. He could see the clouds forming in the sky, the water bonding together. They had discovered he could still not see the stars as clearly as he wanted to, though this had been done during the following night. He lost himself watching a worm wriggle upon the grass. Valjean had had to take his face in his hands and talk quietly to him before his sentinel blinked away the glaze in his eyes.

Javert had a good sense of smell apparently on par with his eyes, though Valjean did not understand how they could compare the two. He could easily catch wisps of various foods or of decomposing animals. He could, it seemed, also sense the differences in people’s moods; when someone was excited, or sad, or angry... or especially aroused, though he had informed Valjean of that once they had settled down to sleep. His guide had laughed and replied he enjoyed watching his love extend himself so freely and with a reluctant smile.

It had saddened Valjean when he learned Javert decreased his sense of taste often. The flavour of things unsettled Javert’s stomach, so he tried not to taste, allowing himself only the smell of whatever he was eating.

He also decreased his touch. This statement was accompanied by the explanation that he could not even wear his clothing for the discomfort it caused if he did not. Valjean had flushed when he heard this, and it was almost as deep as Javert’s when he realised what he had said. The thought of the prison guard, the police man or the inspector strutting around completely bare was a most attractive thought, the arousal he felt at the idea overrode the ridiculousness of it.

It was nearly a week after this that Javert came to him, eyes down and fidgeting. 

“My mother is looking after the girls. She said she will put them to bed in their tent later.”

“That is good to hear. She is enjoying being their Grandmère then?”

“Quite, yes.” Javert had yet to raise his eyes and his nervousness and fear was rolling off him.

“Come here, my love, and tell me what troubles you.”

“It is not a trouble as such, Jean; merely... a request.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask... about completing our bond...”

“You... want to, my love?”

“Yes.” This was spat out, as though his sentinel could not hold the words behind his lips.

Valjean stood, walked over to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“It is probably time we completed it, yes. What do I need to do?”

“We- We need oil.”

“I have that.” Nicolæ had given it to him, and then left several phials and a good few bottles of the stuff lying around as well. Valjean had kept it in his knapsack though, not wanting to force Javert into something he was not ready for.

“You do? Then... I need you undressed and on the bed.” Valjean slowly unbuttoned his vest, watching Javert’s eyes follow his fingertips.

He grinned and reached behind him to pull it off by gripping the back. Not the easiest way to get it off, but it was filling his sentinel with arousal. Next he slipped the braces down, giving a little moan as he did so, smiling again as he heard Javert’s breath catch.

He shut his eyes, and swayed slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt, hoping this was something his sentinel was enjoying, that it was helping to eliminate the man’s nerves. He shifted his shirt slowly to bare more skin as he went, and Javert stepped forward to help, keen to see his guide’s flesh.

“No, sentinel. You sit on the bed and let me.”

Javert dropped to the bed as Valjean let his shirt flutter to the rug on the floor. He bent over, with a loud sigh, to remove his boots, then his stockings. That was not a sexy as he had wanted, more clumsy than anything, however Javert’s eyes were large, dark and focussed entirely on him. He decided to just remove his slacks and drawers though, eager to unwrap his prize.

Javert’s hands lifted to his own shirt, wanting to feel bare skin against bare skin, but Valjean stopped him. He slowly undid the laces on Javert’s shirt, carefully loosening them, though he did not need to. He then removed Javert’s boots and socks with far more grace than he had his own.

He slipped Javert’s shirt off, over his head and leaned forward to kiss the flesh before him. He licked a nipple, bit just above it, then pulled back to push his sentinel backwards onto the bed. He unbuttoned Javert’s trousers and pulled them down, mouth watering as he did so. Once he had removed his love’s drawers as well, and kissed some more skin, Javert pushed him off.

“Please, Jean. Let me imprint properly, then we can... bond...” He flushed as he said this, but pushed the guide into the blankets all the same.

“Sight.” He whispered, allowing his eyes to slowly drag across Valjean. The fire in it left goose bumps in its wake. 

“Sound.” Javert knelt in between his legs and rested his head on Valjean’s chest, right over his heart. They lay together for a few moments, and the guide took a few moments to cool off.

“Smell.” Javert shifted his head and, making Valjean jump, buried it in his armpit. As his sentinel took deep breaths, and Valjean tried to not be too awkward, but he had not washed all over since two days previous. It would not smell pleasant there, but perhaps his natural scent was what Javert was after.

“Taste.” It was then that Javert’s tongue came into play. He licked his armpit, and Valjean definitely felt his face burn with something other than arousal. Javert then moved his way across his chest down his stomach, to the next sweaty area. He licked, and Valjean bucked his hips, moaning loudly. His sentinel took no real notice of this though, and moved his way further down, taking deep breaths as he went.

“Touch.” Javert’s voice was deep and rough. He ran his fingertips along Valjean’s skin while he licked different areas. It was sending surges though Valjean and he was desperate to join in.

“May I join in now, please?”

Javert raised his head; his dark, glazed eyes seemed to look into his soul with the ability that had spotted a parent animal feeing its young just a week ago. It went deeper than any look Valjean had ever shared.

“Join our minds, guide.” Javert said, in an almost flat tone.

These words seemed to trigger something though. Valjean’s mind spread itself wide, and he felt himself go crashing into Javert. Javert’s thoughts and feelings were not a solid wall though; they caught him in a tight embrace and allowed him full access. He gazed about in wonder at the ordered mind of his sentinel.

He could see so much... He could see the affection and love for Cosette and Éponine; the joy when he heard them both calling Valjean ‘Papa’; the fear Éponine would be unable to overcome her heritage. He saw Éponine’s parents; the despicable way they had been treating Cosette; the curiosity about Cosette’s moon magick. He saw himself as a much younger man, first as he ran from the prison, attempting to escape. He felt the call of his sentinel again, now understanding why he had stopped and obeyed a man child he did not know. Then he was thin and weary as he sat in solitary in Toulon; he felt the start of their bond, when Javert had zoned, apparently on the scent that he had caught when Valjean had stood up; he felt the bond deepen when they met as inspector and mayor. He felt the love Javert had felt, and the terror that had ripped through him at this.

He felt to sheer agony of one duty conflicting another when he realised who Madeleine was. The fear that it was his own emotions, rather than logic and wisdom that kept him from revealing Valjean.

Jean Valjean accepted the joining of their minds, and initiated the joining of their bodies. He pressed his lips to Javert’s, feeling the slide of skin and delighting in it. He pulled Javert down on top of him, the sweaty skin causing him more joy than he had expected. He reached out to the table by their bed and grabbed a phial of oil. With his sentinel straddled across his hips, Jean wasted no time in slicking his fingers and easing one inside. 

Above him, Javert moaned and shifted to more thoroughly explore his guide’s mouth. Jean raised a knee, planting his foot higher up the bed and pressed Javert more firmly against him. He felt the heat of Javert loosen enough to slide another finger in. The sentinel pulled back, arching his back and moving hard against those digits. Jean added another. The heat was most wonderful, and his erection dripped with anticipation.

Javert’s joy and need flowed through his mind as wind directing a ship home. He added more oil to his fingers and thrust them inside again, Javert groaned loudly. 

He added the necessary oil to his own body, and then allowed his sentinel control as the man positioned himself. He used his connection with Javert to know how quickly he could ease the man down. This truly was coming home. It felt as though he was always meant to be here. Javert’s chest was heaving above him and he was releasing delicious little noises.

He gripped Javert’s hips and moved him up, then down again. The burn was most enjoyable. He wanted more. So did his sentinel. Javert pressed both hands firmly to Jean’s chest and began to rock. It was a hot, tight channel and it felt fantastic. Jean thrust up into his love and the man shoved himself down.

Their movements went from exploratory and curious to the desirable rutting of animals. Javert bounced in his lap, groaned as he hit the spot inside his body. It was not enough. Jean rolled them over and grabbed both of the man’s legs. They went over his shoulders and he began to move.

Javert was moaning, hissing... If he was speaking words, Jean’s mind was not engaged enough to interpret them and he kept moving; harder; faster. He pulled out all the way only to plough back inside. He burned all over and it was a glorious heat. He gasped, feeling pleasure coming in not just from his body, but his mind as well.

He was complete.

He buried his face in his sentinel’s neck as he hissed, releasing the proof of his pleasure deep inside the other man. Javert came in the same moment, jerking underneath Jean, hands twisted in the blanket above his head as he almost seemed to stop breathing, eyes wide and lips slack.

Javert’s legs fell from his lover’s shoulders, and Jean gathered the man up to his chest. They could wash in the morning.


	18. Chapter 18

The two men settled comfortably into their life in the camp. They adapted to travelling, to helping earn money by doing various jobs in towns and villages. The girls grew up with smiles on their faces, with a freedom Jean felt they would not have known away from the gypsies and they even learned to accept each other.

Éponine was no longer the spoiled child she had been when Javert first removed her from the Thénardiers; she was no longer the quiet, suspicious child she became after living with them for several months. She turned out to be a thoughtful young woman, still fairly quiet, but hard working and honest. She used her senses to defend her family with a fierceness that would frighten Jean, if he had been on the other side of it. Éponine grew up well.

Cosette had grown as well. She learned to love with a heart so full that Jean knew where she was in the camp at any time. She was quieter than Éponine, and still followed the girl around like a puppy, but she no longer was a servant in any form. She was intelligent, with a quick wit and a determination to follow the law that made Jean glad she was not in a position to join the police. His sentinel was no longer a policeman, and after about 8 years, he knew Javert missed the job but would never go back to it.

While Javert and Éponine trained their senses and, he suspected, practised their fighting skills; while Jean learned how to focus on individuals and sense their emotions, practised influencing their emotions; Cosette learnt about moon magick.

She spent time reading about and learning the Energy Currents in nature, she learned spells, though Jean did not let himself think about it, and she gained wisdom beyond her years. She often was out, making moon water to aid healing. She made each member of her small family drink it every morning. She claimed she could read auras as well, and though Jean wondered if this was something close to a guide’s ability to sense emotions, he did not question her.

They all learned about herbs, which to use for various ailments and which to ward things away with. It was Javert’s mother who taught these lessons, and though her son clearly already knew them and didn’t care for sitting through them again, she kept them all in line with a strict firmness.

Overall, they became a part of the family. They were loved, accepted and happy. Javert began to develop a longing though. He did not tell Jean what it was for, and his lover did not want to guess, but he suspected the man felt tied down. 

Once the girls had grown to 16 years, they left. It had been a sad occasion, but they had been assured they could return whenever they liked. Jean appreciated the sentiment, but they would have to find the camp again first.

They travelled into Paris under the cover of the night. Javert was confident that the years had changed him enough that he would not be recognised by any who still remembered him, and Jean agreed. Javert seemed to become more handsome by the day. He was now clean shaven, without even sideburns, his hair was longer, falling around his ears and he smiled. They all wore the bright clothing of gypsies, as that was now what they were, but it was different to the rigid uniforms the man used to don.

Jean was aware he was still quite smitten with his sentinel, but it was difficult not to be when you were allowed to spread him out and take your fill on a night. 

When they entered Paris, they seemed to walk straight into the middle of a riot. As they walked through the streets, lit in the golden light of the rising sun, they came across several young men making a fuss. 

At the centre stood a handsome young man with mucky blonde curls and a resolution about him that made Jean look twice.

“My love, we should carry on.” Whispered Javert in his ear, but Jean was not the only one who had stopped. While the guide stared at the man with a determination that pushed out of his own body and into other people’s, Cosette was staring at the young man stood just beside him. Jean was mortified to feel the jolt of attraction, and dare he even think it, arousal that shot through his daughter. He put a block up quickly, while turning his attention to the one she was looking at.

He was a freckled young man who was not a fierce as the other, but still shouted to make his voice heard. He could feel a disappointment directed at the young man from somewhere in the crowd.

The man stared at Cosette as though she was a great light though, and Jean felt a stab of protectiveness from his sentinel. He agreed that they should not get caught up in something that would undoubtedly attract the police though.

“You are right. Let us move on.” He grasped Cosette’s shoulder and pulled her away. Javert grabbed Éponine’s hand before she had the chance to slip out of their reach and towards the men. They reached a more subdued area and stood for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. 

“Father?” Cosette looked at Javert with big blue eyes and a nervousness deep inside.

“Yes, Cosette?” 

“We will be staying here, right?”

The man glanced at him and nodded to their daughter. She smiled, the worry relaxing from her, and Jean wondered what her concern had been. They still had nowhere to stay, they were not settled yet.

“Come,” he said gently, “let us find somewhere to rest.” He pressed a kiss to Javert’s smooth cheek and they moved on.

Eventually, they found a place to stay. There were two rooms, one for the girls and one for the men. It was not much, but it was enough.

That evening, the two girls disappeared out. Javert was most displeased at this, but Jean smiled.

“They need their freedom, my love. Let them roam.”

“This is Paris. There are thieves and murderers and rapists out there. The girls should be here.”

“Éponine will protect them. You know she has improved at noticing anything that does not fit now.” He pressed a kiss to his sentinel’s lips. “Cosette is no helpless child either. They will be fine.”

He pushed Javert down onto the bed, stripped of his clothing and settled down on top of him.

“Relax, my love. Let the girls make friends, and let me have you.”

Javert stared into his eyes for a long moment. He clearly found what he was looking for, because he shoved Jean off so he could strip as well.


	19. Chapter 19

Their family had acquired a small home. Jean believed there was no better use for the silver gifted to him by the bishop. It was down one of the small streets, not in a particularly rich area, but it was not in the worst. Cosette had loved it, crying out in delight at the garden attached. Éponine had spent time wandering about the neighbourhood, her curiosity once again taking her out to explore even when her sister hung back.

Javert had not been thrilled about the area, not really being a fan of anyone outside his family still, but he had quite liked the house. There were three bedrooms; two small ones, which they gave to the girls and one larger one. The beds were soft, comfortable, and the elderly woman who sold them the house had smiled and told them she had had them replaced not too long ago. There was a good sized kitchen, which had a large oak table and six thick, solid chairs around it; a small drawing room off to the side, which smelt strongly of smoke and a sitting room, slightly larger than the kitchen, with a hearth and a large metal tub off to one side. It was all on one floor, spread out but comfortable.

It was perfect. Cosette claimed the drawing room as her own, putting her various books and notes into it as both Javert and Éponine couldn’t stand the smell left in there. Their dark haired daughter began spending a large amount of time outside their home. Jean worried about this, but Javert told him to let it go; the girl was 16 years old, she would not take well to being told to sit in the house. He reminded Jean that their girl was a sentinel, and she needed to learn the area if she was going to settle in.

Javert had already spent large amounts of time exploring the area; sometimes he took Jean with him, both of them delighting in stopping to kiss in the gentle glow of the lanterns, or by the Seine, sometimes, Javert went alone, trying to learn what the unlawful population around the area was like. He had clearly found a smell in the area that he did not like, growling when he sniffed it, but he tried hiding it from his guide, not wanting to worry the man. Jean was aware of this, feeling it through their bond, but he kept quiet, knowing Javert would tell him eventually.

Javert came home one evening, stopped in their garden then frowned. Jean felt a jolt of concern running through him mixing with the underlying concern that he usually had there now. His sentinel headed to Cosette’s room, and though he was scowling, he wasn’t angry. Jean settled down into his chair by the fire, leaving the two to talk. He picked up his Bible and let it fall open on a random page to start reading.  


  
‘Our soul waits for the LORD;  
he is our help and our shield.  
For our heart is glad in him,  
because we trust in his holy name.  
Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us,  
even as we hope in you.’  


  


Psalm 33. Jean smiled and leaned back in his chair. He felt the heat of the fire warm his skin and allowed the lethargy of the surrounding air take him into a state of rest. 

It was later when Jean felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. Javert was leaning over him, the light too dim to see his eyes, but the soft smile on the man’s face evident.

“Come to bed.” He whispered. Jean smiled, and accepted the hand that pulled him up. “I’ll join you in a minute.” The man smiled and walked into the kitchen. Jean nodded, knowing the man was leaving him to say his prayers and headed to their bedroom.

It was when they were both settled in bed, Javert curled half on top of Jean as usual, that he brought up what had been bothering him.

“There will be a riot.” He muttered quietly. “There is a group of foolish boys; they want to change the country.”

“A riot? I have heard it will be a revolution.” He had heard of it, of course. You could not head out onto the street without coming across the blonde haired man or one of his followers.

“It needs to succeed to be a revolution, surely? I cannot see how they will. They will attract the attention of the wrong people, and the National Guard will fight back. When they overthrew the king, and made France a republic; that was a revolution. These are just boys though. I cannot see how they will bring about political changes.”

“You are worried about them.” And he likely was. Javert did not waste words on something or someone he did not care about.

“Cosette’s attention has been caught by one of them. I fear he will be dead soon, and she will suffer a broken heart.” What? He had not noticed her catching their attention. She was at home; she did not head out at all. “And Éponine spends time with these boys. She has made friends with them, and I worry that she will want to be there when they try to revolt.”

“What? Then she shall not leave the house until it is over and done with!” He snapped.

“I do not think you can stop her. Surely you have noticed their leader is a guide. She is quite taken with him.” Jean pushed Javert off him and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands. He did not want to hear this. He felt Javert rest a hand on the middle of his back, worry, concern and fear warring in him.

Jean turned and pulled Javert into his lap, burying his face into the man’s neck.

“What can we do? They will be hurt!”

“I do not know. But, we shall have to do our best to protect them.” Jean took a deep breath and let it out, feeling it quiver on its way out of his body. Javert remained in his lap, curling in slightly and resting his cheek on Jean’s shoulder.

They remained like that for some time, Javert starting to doze off, but Jean waiting for his mind to settle down.

“A guide, you say?”

“Hmm?” Javert shifted sleepily. “Oh, yes. The ones with the curls.”

“I think I remember him.” Jean eased them back into a lying position, moving his legs back under the blankets.

“You should. He is a powerful guide. I think he influences the people around him.”

“You don’t think they really believe in this revolution?”

“Riot. But, that is not what I am saying. People here are unhappy. I know you feel that. They would likely be glad of a change; however I do not think they want to fight.”

“You think he is stirring what is already there, then?”

“Yes. I think he could make them fight, he _could_ likely make them believe it is the right thing to do, because he is not inventing these feelings from nothing, he would just be amplifying them.”

“But?”

“I do not think he will.”

“Why not?”

“Perhaps I am _hoping_ that one of my daughters has not been taken in by an overpowering idiot, as the other one is smitten with a hopeless fool. However, I think he believes too firmly in his cause to want to force people into it.”

“I hope you are right. I do not like people fighting, but I like the idea of people being forced to fight even less.”

“Now, hush. General Le Marque’s funeral is tomorrow, and I have a feeling something is going to happen there.”

“A feeling?”

“I asked Éponine, and she could not quite lie her way out of it.”

Javert pressed a kiss to his chest, before sighing and letting sleep take him. Jean Valjean lay awake a while longer, worrying about his family.


	20. Chapter 20

Éponine hurried through the streets. She would be here for this revolution. Enjolras was a sweet young man with soft curls and a bright smile. She had snuck out of the house one evening to find the boy that had captured her sister’s heart and come across the guide.

He was strong, confident and bold. In many ways, he reminded Éponine of her Papa - focussed on a better future and determined to get there. She knew her parents would be furious if they knew she was here, but there was nowhere else for her to be. She had too much invested in these people.

Enjolras was her guide, she was sure of it. she had not managed to have a full conversation with him, but his eyes always lit up when he saw her and she could feel his emotions so strongly that she was sure they could bond. She had turned up to several of their meetings, listening to him speak and ooze confidence. She was sure he could do anything, but he would require someone to protect him. He had a loyal collection of friends, but they were all mere humans. Wonderful in their own way, but she would not leave his protection up to them.

Still, Enjolras was not her sole focus; she spent much time investigating Marius. At first, he seemed a bit of a wash-out; dull, uninteresting and no match for her dear sister. She realised though that he was loyal, he was firm in his beliefs and he was kind. Marius was a rich young man who lived with the poor because he believed in something his family did not. He frequently asked her to deliver notes to Cosette, and once she determined he was acceptable for her, she stopped holding onto them and started giving her sister them.

She had to be there for those two men, and for her friends; for Combeferre; for Courfeyrac; for the various other students; for Joly, the medical student whose hypochondriac ways had caught her attention; for his best friend the unlucky Lesgles; for dear little Gavroche, whom she felt an odd connection to. She would do her best to protect them all.

She stood in the crowds at General Le Marque’s funeral, her heart thundering in her bound chest as she kept her senses locked on the activity around Enjolras and Marius. Philippe sat on her shoulder, his body flushed the same colour as her jacket. She felt better for his presence; if her spirit guide had disapproved of this it would have been so much more difficult.

“Calm down. They are in the same area, so you do not need to panic.”

“I know.” She breathed back at him. She wanted to ask him more questions, to allow his voice to calm her, but the surrounding crowd could not see the small reptile on her shoulder. She would be talking to herself.

“You should have told your Father you know. He needs to know where we are.”

“He will know we are here.” She softly replied. It was the truth though; he had questioned her about it, and informed her she was not allowed here. However, her father knew her, and he would know she was here.

She stood beside them and shoved people out of her path when they started their revolution. She kept herself close to the two men she needed to save. She focussed on what she could hear, wishing for once that her sight was better. Having an increased ability to hear was useful, but the ability to smell better than other people was not so much.

The students led the revolution over to the cafe and they began to set up the barricades, she did her best to help. When she saw the young Gavroche, an idea struck her. She quickly scribbled a note to her Papa and asked the boy to deliver it and wait to see if there was a reply. He nodded, quite taken with her anyway and pleased to have a task beyond the waiting they were currently doing. As he scampered off, Éponine smiled. She had asked her Papa to keep the boy safe. 

As the sun travelled across the sky, she lay back against the wood and kept her eyes on Enjolras and Marius. She desperately wanted them to live. It was as the sun began to set that she felt a horrible jolt of pain in her chest. She jumped up to her feet, and then staggered into someone as her legs refused to hold her.

“Éponine?” it was Marius.

“I... there is something wrong.” She growled. Her family, something had pulsed along that bond.

“Is Cosette...?”

“My family.” She spat the words out, struggling to remain coherent. The animalistic demand that she protect her family was fogging her senses. “How do I... I need to get to them. Please.”

“Yes, of course. We can just slip out.”

“There are soldiers.” She could hear them.

“Are you alright, Éponine?” It was Enjolras. He must have felt her pain.

“My family... in trouble.”

“Go.” He knew what she was, and he understood. “Marius, look after her.”

“I will.” The freckled young man nodded his head.

“Take the sewers. If we are surrounded, as I think that is what the sentinel is saying, then you cannot walk out. Go.”

Marius took her arm and led her over to the small opening.

“Slide down. I’ll follow.” He said. She nodded her head, but took a moment to dial down her sense of smell. She already felt like vomiting this far away from that smell, she was not getting closer until she couldn’t smell a thing.

\---

The walk through the sewers was vile. Éponine could feel the filth moving against her skin, and if Marius hadn’t been behind her, encouraging her, she would have stopped. At several points, he had had to carry her as the ... liquid went above her head; not that he was much taller than her, but still...

Philippe had disappeared, but she couldn’t blame him. It was disgusting. Once they emerged, Marius led them over to a water pump and they cleaned themselves off as best they could. With the clear liquid flowing over her skin and her senses able to expand again, Éponine’s animal nature rose to the forefront again. 

She headed straight home. It was not certain this was where her family would be, but it was guides who could track people via the bond, not sentinels.

“Father? Papa?” She called as she entered, her eyes straining for some noise. The soft footfalls of her sister caused her to hurry over to the staircase. “Cosette!”

“Éponine!” wailed her dear sister. The girl pelted down the stairs, but stopped short. “What is that smell?” she wrinkled her nose.

“I do apologise but we did not have an easy time getting here.”

“Oh...” She frowned slightly, but did not object again. A moment later a horrified look spread across her face. “Oh, Éponine! You must help. A man named Jordenette took Father!”

“What?” she hissed.

“I do not know who he was, but he kept ranting about theft and how Father had done him wrong. I am afraid I stayed hidden and did not help.” She looked miserable at that but Éponine was merely thankful that her sister was safe.

“Where did they go?”

“The young gamin came by just as Papa came home. I think Papa was out looking for you or something. The gamin took him to... Gorbeau House, I think.”

“Gorbeau House?” Gasped Marius. “What did you say his name was, Jordenette? I know this man.”

“You do?” growled Éponine.

“He lives next door to me. I know his wife died in prison and that he blames a man named Javert for it. Gavroche is his son, though they have no more than a biological connection. He used to have two daughters, but this Javert took them from him.”

“Truly? Oh my.” Whispered Cosette. “We are the Javert family. Father took us from a cruel family back when he was still a police officer.”

Éponine frowned. She did not remember this. She was sure she had always been part of the Javert family.... There was something about a musty old inn that stuck in her memory though that she had always assumed was from a dream.

“Do you still wish to go, Éponine? Or shall we wait for your Papa to return?”

“We go.” She growled. “Now!”

“Wait.” Called Cosette. “Give me a moment to change. I am coming too.”

“No. You will stay safe.”

“I shall stay at the back, sister. However, I will not remain here. What if you need my magick?”

Éponine snarled slightly, fear flooding her. Unfortunately the logic of her sister’s statement, and the knowledge that the girl was stubborn enough to follow on her own if they left before she was ready had to be acknowledged. 

Éponine folded her arms across her chest and waited as Cosette hurried off; Marius stood beside her, twitching nervously.


	21. Chapter 21

Cosette arrived at the house with Éponine and Marius. There was a loud ringing noise coming from inside, as though someone were pounding on a gong. Éponine yelped, her face grimacing with pain and she crouched down, covering her ears.  
Her Papa was outside, growling angrily in a manner much reminiscent of her Father. The young child, Gavroche was beside him, looking cowed by her Papa’s anger.

“Papa?”

“Éponine? Cosette?” He barely even glanced at Marius.

“Papa?” Cosette spoke up. “What is that noise?”

“There are causing Javert problems. I need to be in there, but the boy told me to wait.” Her Papa scowled angrily at the boy.

“I... I have sent one of my friends for the police.” He looked embarrassed, glancing apologetically at Marius.

“You did right.” Marius assured him. “You could not stop these alone.”

“Javert is in there. I am not waiting any longer. Look at what it does to your sister! Javert’s hearing is far more sensitive.”

Her Papa was so protective of him, but looking how Éponine squirmed, she could understand. 

“Papa. I’m going in.” Éponine was struggling to stand straight, but she was moving. “Father needs us.”

The protective streak of sentinels. Papa stormed into the house after her sister, showing the determination of guides to be just as powerful. Inside the house she could here laughing; a cruel snorting that accompanied mocking words.

“Come now, I thought you were some kind of heroic saviour!”

“Yeah, didn’t you save some girls from our friend here?”

“Took my two little girls he did! Stole them right out the nest.” There was a loud thump. The noise of the gong stopped. “He got my wife killed too, you know. Put us both in jail, she was too delicate for it.” The man gave a loud sob, though it did not sound quite right.

Papa ran up the stairs, anger radiating out of him. Cosette followed him up, passing Éponine on the stairs who was recovering from the pain in her ears. 

“Give what help you can.” Came her sister’s voice from behind her.

“It is a full moon, though I cannot see it from in here. I think I can manage some protection and possibly aid in healing.”

In the room, Papa had thrown himself into the fray. One man, frail looking, was already on the ground unconscious. Father was on his knees, hands still over his ears, but he had frozen still; it was eerie the way he did not even flinch as those around him fought, or even as blood from a gash on his forehead dripped into his eye.

“Brujon, pin him down!” shouted a thin, gangly man. Cosette froze, her heart pounding as fear flooded her. She knew that face; it haunted her dreams. She took a step back, bumping into Éponine.

“Epi, wait! Don’t.” But Éponine simply snarled as she hurried forwards, as though beyond words. Cosette began to focus, glancing out the window to imagine the moon’s light entering the room. She would protect her family.

\---

Valjean grappled with a bear of a man. He was strong, sniggering as he fought.

“Your man over there sure is out of it. Reckon we should have put him down earlier.”

He chuckled again, as though he had made a good joke. Valjean did not appreciate it though. This had been a stressful day, the day had not improved and having this man mock him as dawn approached was not helping. However, Valjean may have aged many years since he had last needed his full strength, but he had not been called Jean-le-cric for nothing!

Valjean took a deep breath and forced the other man backwards; he shoved him hard into the wall and used the momentum to shove his weight into him, using his head to smack into the other’s. The bear fell.

A surge of anger and humiliation came from the weedy man. With two of his gang down though, he was looking less confident.

“Claquesous! Do something, you idiot!” 

The remaining man pulled a pistol out, aiming it at Javert’s head. Valjean yelled, furious! He desperately tried to rouse Javert, focussing on the bond they had. It was horrible, seeing the man frozen in a zone, but being unable to go and physically stir him.

“No!” Came the cry of one of his children. Cosette threw herself into the room, whatever fear that had pinned her earlier now thrown off. In a flash, she was across the room with her arms flung wide. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Cosette!” “No!” Éponine and the skinny young man the girls had brought cried out. Valjean stood, horror filling his veins. He was pleased that Javert was now protected, but his dear girl was now in danger. He shut his eyes and prayed: _Please! Please! Keep them both safe!_

“Oh, ho ho!” Chortled the tall thin man. “What’s this, Courgette? Wanting to protect your kidnapper?”

Cosette didn’t move, though Valjean could now feel the fear flowing from her. His other daughter stepped forward though.

“Shut up!” She snarled.

“My dear Éponine, you would talk to your own father that way?”

“My own Father? You are a worm!” He could feel a ripple of confusion, though the girl hid it well.

“My child, you are mine. Surely you remember our inn, our wonderful home?” He stepped towards her, giving a tremendous sigh. “We were so happy, the whole Thénardier family still living under one roof.”

“You lie.” She hissed.

“I do not. We lived together; you and I and your mother. We had little Colette living with us also, though she was as useless as she appears now.” He took another step towards her, an odd glint in his eye. “Surely you remember how this policeman took you from your parents and put us in prison? Your mother, bless her, did not survive the ordeal. She was not one for the horrors of prison.”

“No. You are a vile creature and I admit no relation to you.”

“You are Éponine Thénardier. You are my daughter.”

“I am Éponine Javert. The child of Luc Javert and Jean Valjean.” Valjean felt a surge of pride, both his own pride and Éponine's. “You cannot take my family from me.”

Thénardier? He must have recognised Javert while the sentinel was out and taken him for some kind of vengeance. Éponine howled angrily when both the men began laughing; she threw herself at the man with the gun.

Valjean reacted and quickly knocked Thénardier out, a matter of using his strength to send the man flying into the wall. There was a gunshot though, and Valjean felt a burst of pain blossom in his mind. He spun and watched in horror.

Éponine whimpered, and curled in on herself. She had been shot.

Valjean threw himself at the one who harmed her, fists flying as he beat the other. The rage he felt went unchecked, as there was no Javert to hold him back.

“Papa?” A soft voice, chocked up slightly, spoke up to him. “Papa, I’ll do what I can for Epi. You help Father.”

It was difficult to pull himself back, to rein himself in. He focussed on his daughter’s fear, and then sheer determination and concentration. He walked over to his battered lover and knelt before him. 

“Javert? Are you in there?” He stared into the man’s eyes as he held his face, searching for some glimmer of his love. “Sentinel. Use our bond. Come back to me.” He wrapped his arms around Javert, pulling him into his chest.

Downstairs, he could hear voices. It seemed the police had arrived. He leaned back slightly, looking again into Javert’s eyes. He focussed on feeling safe; they were in no danger now, perhaps he could use that to coax the other out.

“Javert?” 

“Papa? Get all his senses back to you.”

Valjean raised his eyes to where Cosette was focussing on Éponine, her hands stained in the other’s blood. That young man was sat beside her, his hands covered in Éponine’s blood as he pressed his coat over the wound, trying to stop the flow.

“Are you alright, my child?”

“Yes Papa. I am trying to sure a serious injury though, and it is not something I have had to do before. Please let me do this.”

He nodded, even though she would not see it. He would distract her no more. 

Senses, Cosette had said. Javert could see him, feel him and surely smell him. He must have heard him... Valjean leaned in to kiss his sentinel, allowing their lips to meet, even through the blood that trailed from Javert’s nose down into it. He tilted the man’s head back and kissed him properly, using his tongue to probe inside the mouth of the man he loved.

“Please.” He whispered, before taking his lips again. A few moments later, and Javert’s lips twitched against his own. He grinned and pressed another kiss to them. A cough from behind him caused Valjean to pull back.

The police had entered the room. One of them was kneeling down beside Cosette, but there were two that were cuffing Thénardier’s gang. Gavroche stood nearby, grinning for a moment, until he stopped Éponine.

As the boy ran over to her, Valjean realised they would be brother and sister. How odd...

Javert slumped into him, as drained as he always was after zoning.

“Monsieur? There is a stretcher downstairs. Shall we take the girls to the hospital?”

“Are you ready to go, my dear?” Cosette nodded her head, her pale face lined with exhaustion, “Then off you go. I need to wait for your Father to stir.”

"I will see you soon then. Marius? Are you coming?" The freckled young man stood with her, both pale and shaking.

It was not that he did not want to be with his children, but he could do nothing to help them and his bond mate needed him. They would be along in a while. He pressed his face into Javert’s greying hair, trying not to let the tears fall from his eyes.

As the room emptied, and it was just the two of them curled up together; Valjean prayed that his family would survive.


	22. Chapter 22

The following week was tense, painful. Valjean spent a great deal of time in the hospital. Éponine, his dear, fiery Éponine was struggling in the ward. Her sister had not moved, nor had the boy.

Cosette was worried for her sister, as well as her father. Javert had been silent since they had left Gorbeau House. Valjean simply attached himself to his sentinel and stayed there, wrapped around him. He wanted to be of more help to Javert, but the flood of emotions in the ward tended to be too much.

He felt so much fear, so much concern. There was pain from Éponine, when she was awake; she projected great relief though, when she was coherent enough to understand her family was safe.

Cosette was brimming with fear, worry and love. She was filled with the negative emotions he had expected; however the strength of the love she was feeling had surprised him. As he sat holding Javert in his arms, he had pondered this feeling. She loved her family, that much he knew but she also held so much love for Marius that it had shocked him.

He was happy to know she could feel this love, in many ways, but the thought of her leaving and making a family with this Marius; the thought of her not being here, it was something he put firmly to the back of his mind. In his years as a guide, he had learnt that it was best to face your feelings, not to hide them and pretend everything was fine, but he would wait till their health had returned.

Marius was a painful accumulation of guilt. He was almost completely filled with it, though a part of him still contained love. It had not been until several days after they had retrieved Javert that it occurred to Valjean; the riot had failed. The students had all been killed. He knew they had been friends, companions, and they had died for a cause the boy believed in. He felt grief, devastating grief...

Cosette seemed to ease the pain the boy felt. She was, understandably, enough to knock him out of his overwhelming emotions. He sat beside her at Éponine’s beside every day. 

Valjean sat in the hospital as well. His sentinel had been cleaned up, bandages applied and then given food. Valjean sat his lover on a chair and sat opposite, knees banging together as he made sure the other ate. 

The sentinel still did not seem entirely himself; even his feelings were oddly detached. Valjean spent as much time as possible with the man’s face pressed into his neck. He had a feeling the other had dialled his senses so for back that he had lost himself. The man was likely having trouble pulling himself fully out of it.

When they found Javert, the man had not been zoning, he had simply... gotten lost, with nothing to ground himself on. The older man had a feeling that they needed to reaffirm their bond. Intercourse would bring the other man out of it. However, Valjean did not feel capable of having sex at the moment, with one daughter hovering on the edge of the death and the other exhausted. 

Thankfully, after nearly two weeks, Éponine began to show some improvement. Her sister was becoming ever more exhausted with her attempts to heal her sister, to anticipate any needs she may have. The doctors decided that the two girls would be fine, but they needed to sleep. The nuns there forced Marius to rest also as he still had not left Cosette’s side.

The young boy who had shown him where Jordenette lived had visited several times. He spoke to Marius and watched curiously over Éponine. Something in the back of his mind told him they had a type of link, but he was unsure of what it was.

Javert was still silent, he cuddled up against his partner but he did not seem as docile as he had earlier. The man now reacted to things, managing smiles and accepting people’s attempts to converse with him. He did not move from Valjean’s side though, except to relieve himself.

Once they had been assured the girls would be fine, Valjean marched his lover home. When they got back, the house was too quiet. It felt lonely, which was ridiculous as the house had no feelings, but it did not feel right. Regardless, he sent a murmur of a prayer up to God for getting them here.

Javert stood by his side, eyes shut and breathing careful as he seemed to stop and listen. He opened his eyes slowly, tilting his head up to look at Valjean, blue eyes locking with Valjean’s hazel ones.

Valjean finally felt a stirring of desire within himself. He looked down at the man he loved and pressed their lips together. Javert raised his hands to rest on his guide’s shoulders and leaned into the kiss.

Valjean pulled away, promising to be just a moment as he hurried off to the kitchen to look for some oil to use. Locating it at the back of the cupboard with the crockery in it, Valjean hurried back to his sentinel, pulling him upstairs. Javert followed easily, sliding his arms around Valjean’s shoulders as they reached the door to the room. 

The men slowly rubbed against each other, hands moving over their bodies and removing clothing. Valjean cupped his hands underneath Javert’s buttocks, picking him up and carrying him to the bed, while the other man wrapped his legs around his waist.

“Can you manage to imprint your senses on me again?”

Javert kissed him some more, allowing his tongue to wetly explore and licking about Valjean’s mouth and his face around.

“S-Sight.” Javert stuttered slightly, using his legs to push Valjean back so he could see. The guide held still and flushed as those beautiful eyes dragged over him.

“Sound.” Javert then fastened his legs around the man’s waist again, twisted to roll him onto the bed and on his back. Javert straddled Valjean’s hips and curled on top of him, placing his ear upon the other’s chest, listening to his heart. They remained together for over a minute, Javert listening to Valjean’s heart while the other lightly caressed his lover’s body.

“Smell.” Javert shifted his head over to the side, pressing his nose into Valjean’s armpit, breathing deeply in his scent. Valjean grinned, hands still roving.

“Taste.” Javert whispered, his eyes darkening as he licked Valjean’s armpit, then he leaned up to fasten his mouth to Valjean’s neck. He trailed his lips down the guide’s body, licking his nipples, his stomach and lower. Javert licked the drops off Valjean’s tip, causing him to moan and buck his hips.

The man did not stay there though. He muttered “Touch” before running his hands over his skin. Valjean let out a whimper, his desire burning through his veins as he writhed beneath the other.

“Join our minds, guide.”

Valjean pushed his mind forward, feeling Javert’s embrace it. He groaned hotly, finally exploring fully the other. Valjean fastened his mouth to Javert’s; thrusting his hips and feeling their arousals rub against each other. He rolled them over; settling between the other’s spread legs.

The guide blindly groped about for some oil, finding the bottle and spilling it over Javert’s chest when he brought it close. Javert chuckled, and slicked his own fingers. He reached down, past both their erections and between his legs, awkwardly inserting a finger.

Valjean allowed his eyes to flit over the over, before focussing them on his fingers. He groaned again, before running his fingers through the oil on his lover’s chest. He slotted his fingers in with his sentinel’s, smiling as Javert wriggled underneath him. He felt the love and need of Javert flooding into him through the open bond in their minds.

“Beautiful.” He whispered into the other’s ear, before biting at his neck. Javert moaned and rocked his hips.

Scooping the last of the oil of Javert’s chest, Valjean coated his own cock in it and began to slowly enter his sentinel. 

“Mine.” He whispered.

“Yours.” Groaned Javert. “And mine.”

Their movements were quick and filled with desire, their love flowing out in bounds. Javert writhed beneath Valjean as the older man pounded his hips as hard as he could. Their breaths came in gasps and moans. They reached completion just moments apart before lying together, panting

“I love you, Javert. I know I don’t often speak the words out loud, but I do.”

Javert leaned over and kissed him soundly.

“I hope you know I do return the sentiment.”


	23. Chapter 23

Slowly, Éponine recovered. She did not bounce back into life, but she was no longer under threat of death. Javert spent a great deal of time by her side, concerned that there may be others from Jordenette’s gang looking for trouble. 

Éponine clung to her father when it occurred to her that the man she had wanted for her guide was dead. She mourned Enjolras deeply; the strong connection he had sent out to all had touched her strongly. 

Cosette was betrothed to Marius, and her whole self glowed more with joy every day. Javert was pleased that his daughter was not a guide; the turbulent emotions in Paris were upsetting his own guide, and Valjean had so much more experience in blocking those feelings. Cosette smiled and giggled, she supported Marius and Éponine and Gavroche and her parents with a strength that surely came from Valjean and from God.

Javert was truly thankful for her.

In the run up to the wedding, Éponine seemed more vulnerable than ever, as though she could not understand the natural distance of sisters that came with age. She spent a great deal of time following her father about. Javert began to desire, as he often did when they stayed long in one place, for the change to enforce the law. When he settled in a new home and got to know the comings and goings of the people, got to know the better off areas from the poorer ones, he felt a need to have an influence, to improve the place.

It frustrated his partner no end because they had to travel often to keep his discomfort from becoming too great. Javert had always been unable to attach himself to a place, but he had attached himself strongly to people instead. Bandolier Bavol had insisted it was his gypsy blood many times when they had been in the camp, but Javert did not care for the reasons.

He thought deeply now though, as he stood in their garden with Éponine at his side, he wondered if he could join the police here. They would be staying in Paris; Cosette was marrying into the Pontmercy family and Valjean would never be able to move far from her.

“Father? What is it?” Éponine’s soft voice asked.

“I will need papers.”

“You want to work.”

“Yes.”

“Can I join you?”

“Join me? No, Éponine. I do not believe so.”

“Please, Father. Why not?”

Javert sighed and looked at his young daughter, watched her straighten her back and harden her expression.

“I cannot see you hurt.”

“Then trust me. I may be occasionally injured, but I have a need to help, Father. Please.”

Javert stared long and hard into the girl’s eyes. He looked down into the brown depths, holding her focus and viewing her determination. He let out an exhausted sigh.

“Yes. Fine. I trust you, and I understand your need as it is one I feel also.”

She nodded quietly, holding her tongue rather than risk talking her father out of the idea by mistake.

“Papers. I know what I am doing, and perhaps I can explain my absence from the service.”

“If you are creating papers, Father, then why not say you were elsewhere? Claim you were in another town, doing duty with them, or undercover for one of those old officers who have died since then.”

Javert chuckled. The idea could work.

“I am, of course, the daughter you have and either never knew of or never spoke of. You have taught me what you know.”

“Éponine, I can try, but women are not part of the police force. I do not think I can make them change their mind.”

“Then I shall be a man.” She froze and blushed slightly. “If you do not mind, at least.”

“A son?” He sighed, could she hold the deception? “If you can manage, then I can make the claim.”

She pulled herself close, flinging her arms around his neck as she felt herself find a role.

“However,” he added, “I have not taught this son everything I know and he shall have to work his way up the same as everyone else.”

She grinned at him. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up into a responding smile.

\---

Valjean smiled as he sat in the sunlight. For the first time in many years, he felt fully relaxed, even more so than when they had lived with Javert’s Romani family. Grandmère Javert was going to visit, and Cosette was excited to see her. 

The idea of having such a wonderful family was immense. He was thrilled that he had a parent, little though they saw her now; he had two beautiful daughters, one who was introducing a son in law to the family, and hopefully some grandchildren of his own. His other daughter now dressed as a man, spoke little and worked at the prefecture in Paris. She was happy though. At home, she smiled and laughed often. It was a relief that she was no longer torn up at the deaths of her friends.

The woman would require a guide at some point, but Valjean hoped she was truly her Father’s daughter, a true Javert and could cope without a point of focus. Éponine worked long hours though. She often headed out soon after the dawn and returned after evening meal. Javert told him not to worry, that he had worked longer hours when he had started at the prison. Valjean could not stop his concern though.

He was always relieved to see her smile, and he was aware she spent her spare time conversing with her chameleonic spirit guide, Philippe. He still enjoyed his dreams in that forest, staring up at the stars beside his own, still unnamed bear. Javert spent those dreams in his arms, telling him stories of the stars that he had told many times already, with Alma settled nearby.

Valjean himself happily pottered about gardening, praying, teaching what he could to the street urchins who were always so eager to learn.... 

At night, he happily shared pleasure with his sentinel, their aging bodies not yet slowing down. Javert was as delicious as ever and his appetite was sometimes a little difficult for Valjean to keep up with. 

He sighed as he leaned back in the chair, enjoying the gentle breeze. Cosette had Marius coming over in a few hours, she was flitting about inside to tidy the house up to her exacting standards for her fiancé. Javert and Éponine had promised to return earlier this evening.

His family was healing and they were together. He thanked God every day for it and could ask for no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anon kink meme on LJ. Hopefully, I have cleaned it up nicely.


End file.
